


modernity required

by Lord_Maple



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Eventual Romance, Humor, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Slow Burn, modern!linhardt travelling to the past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 14:11:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21321478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_Maple/pseuds/Lord_Maple
Summary: When Linhardt woke up, he found himself in a world that he doesn't abhor.====AU where Linhardt von Hevring, a normal boy from a fairly privileged family, arrives centuries into the past…. After being rescued by the Knights of Seiros, he somehow became a guest in Garreg Mach Monastery under the wing of the infamous Archbishop Rhea.Content with never returning to the present, Linhardt observes the new future…For NaNoWriMo 2019Will contain spoilers for all routes.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Linhardt von Hevring & Claude von Riegan
Comments: 32
Kudos: 154
Collections: Bread Eaters





	1. at the end of all things

Today is Monday.

Waking up was never easy for Linhardt and as a normal boy who goes to a normal school, the routine became something he finds himself cursing very often. Yes, he HAS to wake up. Yes, he HAS to go to school. He does just enough for people to get off his back, goes back to sleep, and wakes up out of his human-bound duty to repeat the cycle all over again. Something is disgusting about that and Linhardt would love for it to disappear like his dreams.

Alas, he wakes up anyways. Brush his teeth. Dress up for school. Forget to eat breakfast. The usual. Linhardt reads articles as he waits for the bus. The Wikipedia article for Ferdinand von Aegir seemed interesting enough for whatever reason.

Maybe if the teachers aren’t so dull or if the subject they teach was at the slightest bit intriguing, he wouldn’t have to endure the lectures from his parents after a stern phone call for sleeping in class (which they promptly gave up, soon enough). Perhaps if he was weaker to the sight of angry faces, he would find the will to do what he’s told out of fear-- become a good little boy, brimming with diligence and devotion towards working for a brighter future where everything is all well and good. He’ll graduate, earn a degree, get a beloved job, and take care of his parents after they retire-- you know, the ideal dream for any decent person in this day and age.

Linhardt drags his feet like a sad man, mulling on how surprisingly okay he is with being an awful person. Students in the hallways pay no mind.

He enters the classroom and sat at the back of the room.

Now, Linhardt wouldn’t consider himself the kind of guy who gets bullied-- in fact, that sort of behavior is met with an iron fist at Mach speed. Nice neighborhoods get nice schools. Nicer schools get better faculty and good kids who know that smoking is bad and bullying is wrong. Anyone with half a brain would know that the people who come to this fancy school are born lucky and for Linhardt, he’s just happy that his school life is nothing like how they show it in movies. It’s devoid of gossip and romance-- the spice and flavor for humanity’s taste buds for drama, just as Linhardt likes it. He hopes that he’ll never be forced to face hatred from his fellow students. It would be bothersome for more reasons than one.

(People do talk about him behind his back. He just never cared to notice.)

Midway into the lecture, Linhardt starts seeing sheep. He can hear giggles the moment his head hits the desk. His classmates are used to it. He’s the guy who crashes in the middle of class-- that’s just him. It suits him just fine, but Linhardt can’t help but wonder how they find humor in routines. Getting sleepy out of boredom and lack of focus isn’t really funny when Linhardt wishes he could cut that part of himself away. Things would be a lot easier if he was like everyone else, you know? He’d have friends who’d care about him for reasons other than a couple of laughs. He’d have something called dreams and aspirations-- ambitions that go beyond himself.

Well, none of that really matters. It’s weird how Linhardt finds his thoughts spiraling into negativity more often nowadays. He gives himself a spiritual slap on the face. He tells himself that he isn’t interested in making friends-- that he isn’t interested in making the world a better place like good, altruistic people. It’s simply a part of his character, even if he knows that the person next to him would find that abhorrent if they knew, and would proceed to spew something about love and justice like an anime protagonist. 

Yeah, Linhardt thought. Shounen protagonists are cool.

Faith class ends. It's an alright elective, given that it all comes easily for Linhardt. He already knew how to cast Physic before taking it, after all.

Linhardt doesn’t pay attention to any of the classes later in the day, whipping out his phone underneath his desk. The teachers are just repeating whatever that’s in the textbook anyways, so tests are a non-issue. He’ll ace the test, do the same for the rest of the year, and graduate like everyone else. Maybe he’ll even be top of the class and make his parents smile or whatever. 

He may not care about the world at large per se, but that isn’t to say that he’s about living an unfulfilling life and being content with it. Something that fulfills his life… yes, that’s what Linhardt wants the most. And he knows what he wants, but….

Well, that’s why he’s placing his hopes on a single project in the first place, huh.

When Linhardt returns home, he realized he forgot to eat lunch again thanks to his grumbling stomach. There isn’t much in the fridge. He pops open a pint of mint chocolate ice cream and locks himself in his room. His parents won’t be home until nighttime like usual, so he turns on the speakers and plays Bach in full volume to annoy the boy next door.

Normally, procrastination is in order on a Monday like this, but today is actually the last day before his homework is due, so Linhardt forces himself to look over the assignment-- a history essay on War of Unification of 1181.

Right, that war. 

Historians suck at naming events.

You don’t need to be educated on the history of Fodlan to encounter that piece of history. Whether one realizes it or not, it’s all over on every source of media, influencing fiction from books to TV shows-- video games and movies. (Crest of Flames is a lovely series of games, but Linhardt personally favors its sixteenth installment.) It was the turning point of history-- a path cut for Fodlan’s new dawn. Emperor Edelgard and her Black Eagle Strike Force spearheaded the movement and defeated a being of god-like power and her tyranny. All of the evidence points to that fact. The Immaculate One’s bones are preserved in the national museum to this day.

But, of course, things aren’t as clear cut as that, just like most things. As time went on, cracks in Emperor Edelgard’s pristine image starts showing as numerous discoveries regarding her more… questionable actions come to light. Linhardt heard about how historians are still arguing over the truth of Edelgard’s reign and whether or not she was a good ruler or whatever. Some say that there was a mysterious force behind the scenes, but were erased in the dark…. Until the necessary major discoveries are made, the war between orthodox and revisionist historians will go on.

Linhardt wouldn’t care so much if the subject of Edelgard wasn’t a match to a puddle of oil. Apparently, his class just so happened to be particularly passionate about debating about her and since the teacher is no different, it gets much too noisy when she’s brought up… and not the pleasant kind of noisy like max volume classical music.

It’s tiresome. It’s so easy to not give a damn about the war when it’s already done and over with. Yeah yeah, she gallantly defeated the corrupt Church, unified Fodlan, and did stuff. Whatever ethical questions people may have aside, she was a visionary and diligently worked towards what was in her mind, a better future.

Linhardt can’t relate to strong people like Edelgard.

Now that he thinks about it, there was also that thing about Crests and how that was the main reason why Edelgard acted the way she did-- the ancient nobility.

It’s funny how in retrospect, that system was going to die regardless of the 'sands of time' anyways. Sure, with the war, one could say that it had to have happened to eliminate the corruption and all of that-- but in terms of people depending on the power of Crests, it wasn’t going to last. Crests are dependent on blood and as generations go, that so-called ‘divine blood’ dwindles. Having one is a chance in a million nowadays and even more so if you want that Crest to be major.

And well, Linhardt just so happens to be part of that one in a million.

The Minor Crest of Cethleann. It’s not exactly a bad thing to have, but despite its rarity, it’s essentially worthless in society’s eyes unless Linhardt wants to work as a lab rat for some suspicious guy who lives in a secluded hut in the mountains. Crestology is a dying, if not dead, subject. There’s no point in teaching it when technology and magic (both black and white) can do so much more at a much faster pace.

People like to say that you should follow their dreams and whatever, but at the same time, there is no mistaking the shine in their eyes when their child shows interest in the STEM fields and not something “worthless” like art. It’s gross. It’s really gross and Linhardt still sees it when snobby elite children get all hesitant whenever they talk about their parents, unable to do what they want out of obligation. They could live on without working a day in their life, but their parents’ pride wouldn’t allow it. It’s stupid. It’s gross _ and _stupid. Being able to sleep away without worry is paradise. Having the right to be a spoiled brat is paradise.

Though, he supposes that wouldn’t be ‘just’ if people let that happen. It wouldn’t be ‘fair’.

In that case, there wouldn’t be an issue if Linhardt worked earnestly to obtain the key to heaven with his own hands, right?

As Linhardt types away, he realizes that half the things he wrote were irrelevant to the topic. For a hot second, he prays to the goddess for mercy on his soul and sighs. The guy next door throws a rock at Linhardt’s window and yells at him to turn down the music. Linhardt does just that and wonders why he turned it up in the first place. At least the rock didn’t destroy the window entirely, though it is a sizable crack. His parents won’t notice it with the blinds closed.

Where was he? Right, the essay. He’ll put it off for now. Essay writing is boring.

Linhardt looks on his desk and notices that the mint chocolate chip ice cream he got earlier melted. Of course, it did. He only ate half of it before being distracted by his own ungodly creation (his history essay). Linhardt drinks the rest of the sweet liquid like it’s a glass of water. By the time he finished, he feels like he just committed a sin on par with killing a man’s wife. 

Maybe he should check on that project he was working on. 

The Hevring estate is fairly large, even in comparison to its equally rich neighbors. The building itself is ancient and has been renovated thanks to the almighty power of old money, and because of this, many rooms aren’t getting its fair share of uses. Sure, Linhardt’s dad might call it ‘guest bedrooms’, but if it weren’t for the servants employed in the house, those rooms would be seeing five-year-old layers of dust.

Well, if it weren’t for the servants _ and _Linhardt. 

When Linhardt came to realize that the world didn’t serve what he wants the most on a platter like most things, he decided to repurpose these rooms for his project-- to make his ‘dream’ a reality. His parents didn’t have any issues given that it wasn’t interfering with his grades, so they brushed it under a rug and called it a hobby. It’s amazing how Linhardt managed to mystify them with heavy amounts of jargon to avoid actually explaining what he’s doing, and thus causing them to believe that they’ll never understand how their son’s mind works. It wasn’t as if they were experts in this field, so it was quite easy. Plus, whenever they call for him, they always ask a servant to fetch their son anyways, so Linhardt never encountered a situation where his parents walked in on him working on his project.

There are three rooms that he is using outside of his bedroom. The first one is his personal Crest research room. It was the sheer luck of being born into the Hevrings that allowed Linhardt to discover this niche interest of his as soon as he did. Crestology may be dead in the sense that they don’t teach it in universities and such, but that isn’t to say that all of the knowledge Crest scholars managed to procure is gone. The Hevrings were part of the Adrestian nobility back in the day, and from Linhardt could tell, it’s part of a Crest scholar’s duty to interact with Crest-bearers-- most of which are nobility. He suspects this is the reason why there were research papers on Crestology in the Hevring basement. (Or one of his ancestors was a Crest scholar themselves-- that’s also a strong possibility.)

This room was originally put into use because Linhardt eventually ran out of room in his own bedroom. The information stored in the basement wasn’t a lot, but Linhardt managed to use the Internet to his advantage to get what he wants. (And by using the Internet to his advantage, he means obtaining the information to concoct elaborate plans to perform break-ins at key locations, but people don’t need to know that.) Through his amazing work, he miraculously managed to get a hold of a couple of legendary relics as well, which are also stored in this room. From the descriptions, he believes one is called the ‘Lance of Ruin’ and the other is a sword called ‘Thunderbrand’.

(Don’t ask how he managed to get them. It is a long story.)

The important thing is what happened when he managed to analyze the material of these relics. Mysteriously enough, despite humanity’s thirst for knowledge, there is surprisingly little information on how these relics work. Apparently, the material is similar to that of bone, but it’s not a perfect match for any animal that humans are familiar with. The secret behind its magical power is even more confusing, where only scraps of paper tell half the story. Legends say that those who are unworthy of handling these relics turn into evil beasts, fur as black as their soul. Considering that Linhardt isn’t a black beast, he supposes that he is either worthy or the whole legend is hogwash.

Still… these relics are labeled as dangerous for a reason. The natural conclusion is that it must have something to do with Crests.

The biggest pioneer in Crest research is undoubtedly the man who earned the moniker ‘Father of Crestology,’ Hanneman von Essar. It’s thanks to his efforts that Linhardt can know as much as he does, but with how the world currently is… how Crests and Crestology are faded-- eroded by the sands of time….

Well, it really was nothing more than a fun hobby. It had no place in the future.

... that is until Linhardt realized it’s potential.

After thoroughly educating himself as much as he can in the subject of Crestology, he realized what separates the magic of Crests from other forms of magic like what they teach in Reason or Faith classes. Aside from Crests having an affinity with blood (gross), it has the effect of… enhancing a person. It’s not like how white magic enhances a person’s natural recovery-- it’s more akin to making a person more powerful. Stronger. Faster. Stuff like that. If you look at it as just that, the possibilities on how one could use Crests are limited, and are likely the reason why the subject has been abandoned by the ever-evolving modern society, but--

If he could harness that power, maybe he could do things that aren’t physically possible for ordinary humans. That’s what he thought.

And that’s when his mere hobby became a full-fledged project. 

It didn’t happen immediately, but as his dissatisfaction of the reality he lives in grew and the rabbit hole known as hyper fixation took hold of his heart, Linhardt took advantage of the wealth he had on hand, and bought the materials he needed. Although he didn’t have a real interest in them, he ended up buying books on engineering, physics, magitechnology, and everything in-between-- things that they wouldn’t normally teach to a sophomore in high school.

That’s where the second room comes in. Not only does it contain college textbooks and research papers on all the necessary knowledge aside from Crestology, but it also has plans on how to implement these subjects together.

And the ultimate goal? To create a separate dimension detached from the flow of time itself. 

Linhardt finds the world he lives in to be dull and there’s no way his parents will let him get away from the burdens they’ll planning to throw onto his back without a fight. Even if Linhardt tried to run away from all of his responsibilities as he is now, there’s no guarantee that it would be an enjoyable life. Sure, he can wait until he gets a car, rob his own family and go off, but he knows that his parents have connections that he doesn’t-- it wouldn’t be hard to find him. (This is where having no allies is biting him in the ass, but what exactly is a high schooler going to do about it?) When Linhardt considered the idea, he decided that it would take too much effort without enough enjoyment to mitigate it, so he figured that he rather stick with the status quo than attempt it.

So running away seems like a pointless endeavor when there’s nowhere to run to, so naturally, that means he’ll just have to make that place, right?

And well, it’s not like Linhardt _ expects _it to work from the get-go per se (in the sense of having a high chance of succeeding before inheriting whatever company his parents are in charge), but… it would be nice to make a space for himself. Space where he can nap away outside of the flow of time where morning alarms don’t exist. A place where alarms will never go off because time doesn’t exist. Considering that warp exists as a spell, he knows that his goal is theoretically possible. 

And besides, it’s fun. Even if he’s only deluding himself into thinking that he’s actually accomplishing something aside from mindlessly consuming entertainment, the journey in of itself is something to behold, yeah?

(That’s his excuse for not attempting something less convoluted.)

So, yeah. Here he is, attempting to puncture a hole into space-time itself through the power of Crests. With the Minor Crest of Cethleann that he was born with, he performed experiments and tests with his own blood (as much as it disgusts him). He already knew that his magical capabilities were slightly stronger than others thanks to his Crest, but to get the power he needs, he has to figure out a way to optimize that power. He tested all sorts of combinations of chemicals and magic formulas before getting the intended result-- transforming his sample of blood to bear not a Minor Crest, but something even bigger than a Major Crest.

That was about a year ago, mid-way into his freshman year. 

Crests and blood are, unfortunately, almost inseparable, and what Linhardt managed to do was only possible because of the small amount of blood he was working with. This alternate dimension would have to sustain itself without Linhardt himself pumping magic from his body 24/7, so where does the magic come from? Well, things don’t just appear out of nowhere, so using magic herbs and pounds of spirit dust is inevitable, but if you were to use blood as a medium to store magic, it doesn’t require Linhardt’s body to be literally attached to the portal device. Plus, with his Crest optimized to enhance magical abilities, it wouldn’t take as many resources as it could’ve. Very little, in fact.

There was just one final piece to the puzzle-- figuring out a way to convert the stored energy so that it’s compatible with the magitechnology. That’s where the relics come into play. The Lance of Ruin and Thunderbrand are supposedly compatible only with their respective Crests, Gautier and Charon respectively, but that isn’t to say that there is no reaction with an incompatible one-- it’s just significantly less efficient. Crests and relics react to each other like chemicals, and that reaction is what made relics as powerful as they are crafted to be.

The ghosts of those who once revered these weapons as their protectors must be rolling in their graves now that some kid ground them to dust and molded it to circuits, Crest stone and all.

After years of research and work, Linhardt ends up with the machine before him. Its size takes up the entirety of the third room, glowing a soft red along its edges. Powered by both electricity and magic, it won’t be long before the thing is capable of opening an artificial space outside the realm of time. Hopefully. Worst case scenario, the thing blows up and takes Linhardt’s life with it, but eh. Science can be like that sometimes, he supposes.

Linhardt has been putting it off testing the machine for a couple of days now. The reason being is that he couldn’t think of a cool name for it. It’d be silly to test it before giving it a name, right? He’s been staring at the machine for the past thirty minutes now and his mind is still drawing a blank. He’d thought that a few naps would churn up his mind for something, but--

Ah, whatever. It’s just a portal machine thing. It’s not going anywhere. He’ll take his time.

The sun has yet to set, but Linhardt decides to fold in for the day. There were things he was supposed to do like finish his essay and eat a decent meal (... and maybe brush his teeth. Were you supposed to brush your teeth twice a day? Who has the energy to do that?), but it’s fine. He can worry about that when he wakes up. After all, sleep is pleasant because it renders you unable to think and too much thinking makes him tired. It’s a cycle that Linhardt doesn’t want to curse out of existence.

Unable to summon the energy to walk back to his bedroom, he crashes right then and there. His foot kicks into a button as Linhardt’s eyelids weigh down to a close….


	2. a new world that actually isn't new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Linhardt just got here and he already slept three times.

As the boy from the future sleeps away, Fodlan stood still in shock.

It was supposed to be an ordinary day for most. It was sunny— clouds here and there dotting the sky. Children play, farmers work, nobles talk— the usual. 

But without warning, a crack in space dragged itself from one end of Fodlan to the other-- a purple scar on the heavens is one way to describe it.

It only lasted for a few moments, but it felt like an eternity to those who glanced up to the tinted sky. The clouds became black as night-- the birds flap their wings and took flight all at once. The ominous swarm of birds took shape and headed south as if they were fleeing from an unseen force that humans couldn’t hope to understand. 

After it was over, it didn’t take long for whispers to think that perhaps this was a message from the goddess or perhaps a bad omen. The image of a mint-colored sky so violently cut into two will forever be burned into the minds of those who witnessed the event.

Archbishop Rhea is one of such people and Seteth, who is right beside her, is in a similar state of disbelief.

“Rhea, just what was that?!”

“I… I do not know, but…” For all of the time she lived, whether it be as Rhea or as Seiros, she has seen many strange phenomenons-- things that only the most intelligent of scholars managed to decipher, but this…. It was almost as if time itself had slowed. The birds that flew into the air appeared to be flapping their wings in slow motion and if it weren’t for that and her battle experience, Rhea could’ve mistaken the situation as a magical illusion.

But no, there was something else-- something familiar about the whole situation that couldn’t have been replicated by human hands. Time, was, of course, her mother’s jurisdiction. Something like this must’ve happened for a reason.

“... we can only pray that it isn’t an ill omen.” Indeed, the question is if this is a positive sign or a negative one. The new school year for the Officers Academy is soon to start and whatever this may be, Rhea knows that Sothis is watching over her.

* * *

“Kid, wake up.”

Linhardt very much did not want to wake up, so he didn’t. Or at least, he tried not to and gave up when he felt a swift kick to his stomach.

“Wha--”

“I ain’t gonna repeat myself! Get up and tell us who the hell you are!”

Linhardt forces himself up from the unfamiliar man’s voice. Where is he exactly? It’s clearly not his home and Linhardt swears to the goddess that he was there, but--

No. If he’s not home by his own will, then that means…!

“...is this a kidnapping?” He knows bad things happen and that people tell him that yeah, this sort of thing can happen to anyone, but still--

“Kidnap? Hah, now that’s an idea. You do got some weird clothes on you. Is this trendy with the nobles nowadays? It’s not as extravagant as I imagined, but it’s not like I know anything about what those stuffy rich kids are up to.” The man’s mocking voice is followed by snickers of other men. Linhardt is literally wearing a jacket, a t-shirt, and a pair of jeans-- what are these guys even talking about?

Linhardt didn’t fully understand the situation, but he knew that he was in danger. As his senses start waking up, he notices that his hands and feet are tied up. The smell was awful and what he seems to be lying on is… moving? Yes, he could feel the ground bumping like he’s traveling on a dirt road. A vehicle… but this isn’t a car. In front of him was a beefy man with an axe-- yes, an actual axe-- in tow. A few others are behind him, and Linhardt can’t help but feel these guys are trying too hard to look like disposable enemy bandits. Those clothes aren’t….

“Really, an axe?”

“What’s so strange about an axe?!” Well. It’s not like guns are easy to come by nowadays, but still-- a whole ass axe? 

Ugh. Whatever. He looks like he’ll actually pop a blood vessel if he keeps asking about it.

“Why am I here?”

“Don’t act dumb, kid. You snuck into our base without gettin’ noticed by our men, which means you came here to snoop around. Is it a rival gang or is it for a prissy elite? If ya tell us, maybe this axe that you find so strange about won’t slice your head off!”

Goddess, Linhardt does not have the energy to think.

“Neither.”

“Then what are ya?”

“A poor sod who sleepwalked to the wrong neighborhood, apparently.”

He got quite a few laughs out of that.

Before the big axe guy could give an angry speech about how angry he is, some NPC-looking guy approaches.

“We’re almost there! We need to get ready to depart!”

The big axe guy with the smelly breath stood up. “Ugh, fine. You. Keep watch of this brat. We gotta kill those noble brats first!”

Huh. Nobles? He did mention that earlier, didn’t he….

The bandits chorused with a “Yes, sir!” and moved out, except for that one guy who was supposed to keep watch. The caravan halts to a stop and Linhardt realizes that one of the sounds he was hearing earlier was the clops of hooves. Seriously? They couldn’t get a car? Even if it’s possible to be tracked via license plate, did they really need to stoop low enough to depend on medieval technology to get around?

This whole thing feels off. It’s as if Linhardt is no longer in the present….

Wait.

He was joking about the ‘sleepwalking’ thing, but maybe that’s what actually happened? He does vaguely recall sleeping in the portal room, so it’s not far-fetched that he turned it on by accident while sleeping. If so, that would fit with what the big axe guy with the smelly breath and shitty attitude said.

But in that case, where exactly is he? Did he really jump so far into the past that cars don’t exist or something? Where ‘nobility’-- like actual ‘nobility’, still exists? The guy who is supposed to be watching him doesn’t seem to be the type who likes to talk. As tiresome as this is going to be, Linhardt forces himself to speak.

“Apologies if this sounds like a strange question, but what year is it?”

The man stays silent.

“What year is it?” Linhardt repeats.

“Not answerin’.”

Well, there goes that plan. Time to give up, I guess. 

Silence filled the air, and it stayed that way for a while until the sound of clashing weapons graced Linhardt’s ears. Maybe it’s a bit much to say that he prefers hearing this over the sound of gunshots when he never heard a real gunshot before, but Linhardt can’t help but remember how much better humanity has gotten at killing people over time. 

The sounds are so distant and yet, the smell of blood was so strong. It’s enough to make Linhardt nauseous….

The bandit in front of him lets out a hiss when he tried to reposition his leg.

Oh. He’s bleeding. That’s probably why he was left behind to watch a defenseless kid. Injured or not, he does have a lance that he could use to skewer Linhardt, after all.

Linhardt’s legs and arms may be restrained, but not in the way that stopped Linhardt from casting magic. A white glow emits from his hands, letting a basic heal spell do its work. The man finally shows emotion outside of his ‘resting bitch face’ for once.

“W-Why…?”

“Stop moving so much. Even though I’m healing you, your wound will reopen if you keep doing that.” Linhardt forces the leg to stay still with his left hand. Honestly… how bothersome patients can be. He did take Faith as an elective, but that was because he was interested in learning its connection to his Crest and the saint it was named after, Cethleann. Though they were technically the losers of the War of Unification, finding information of the Seiros belief isn’t hard when there are people who still worship the Goddess to this day-- a significant amount, he would say. Finding information on Crests was much more difficult.

“I’m not doing this out of the good of my heart. I know you guys are like, probably going to try and kill me by the end of it all, but if I’m going to sit here with no chance of escape, I might as well do away with the sight of blood. The smell alone makes me sick.”

The bandit seemed to accept that answer, or at least, decided it was wiser to not argue any further. Linhardt might come to regret this, but what he said was nothing but the truth. Bandits… never would Linhardt imagined a future where he’s going to be dragged into a bandit gang in the middle of nowhere, much less travel into the past in an accident. Well, that last part technically isn’t confirmed, but whatever. Linhardt will run with that hypothesis until proven otherwise.

“... Thank you, anyways.”

“You don’t have a healer with you? I’m surprised you didn’t have at least one guy to do this for you.”

“If you know how to heal with magic like this, chances are, you ain’t the kind of guy who would willingly stoop down to our level. Knowing this much is enough to land you a respectable job. Plus, you don’t need healers when you have numbers to compensate. Basic first aid and a couple of vulneraries are normally good enough.” It was a pretty big gash, but if the guy already used vulneraries (It’s outdated medicine that fell out of use as far as Linhardt is concerned-- concoctions and even elixirs are pretty easy to mass-produce and are sold fairly cheaply.), then the wound must’ve been a lot worse earlier….

“You’re talking quite a lot for a person who was so adamant about not answering any questions moments ago.”

“Consider it as me repaying the debt. This is all you’re getting from me.”

“I would rather have been told on what year it is.”

The bandit lets out a sigh. “Seriously?” He looks like he just realized that Linhardt was serious. “Fine. It’s Imperial year 1180. Happy?” Well, that settles it.

“Yes. Thank you.” Thankfully, the guy didn’t question it. He just glares at Linhardt like he just asked him whether or not cake was just sweet bread.

The fighting outside started to die down. There was the distant sound of voices and when the bandit looked outside, he made a grimace.

“Kostas is running away. Dunno if he did good on whatever mission he got, but since he ain’t coming this way, then the route here must’ve been blocked off by an enemy. I guess we’re ditching this thing.” He looks over at Linhardt’s direction. “Knowing him, he’ll probably be upset if I don’t bring you with me for him to satiate his bloodthirst, but he’s weaker than he makes himself out to be and it’ll be a pain to drag a body around. It won’t be a big deal to leave you here.”

“Are you going to quit the gang? That man didn’t look like the sort who tolerates disobedience. No strange axes for your neck to fear?”

“Oh, I won’t. As I said, Kostas is weaker than he makes himself out to be-- not in terms of strength, but like-- he’s naive. Yes, that’s what I mean. He’s a sucker. Words alone are enough to get him to shut up. Since you healed my leg quite nicely, I think I'm going to walk back to our base. See ya.” And so he does just that right after gathering his belongings. Linhardt gets the feeling that he wasn’t that bad of a dude, even though he just left him stranded in a ditched caravan. The stupid chains are still on him, too. Honestly. What did he expect from a bandit, really?

The voices from earlier are getting louder, as well as footsteps. One of them is particularly loud.

“Hey! If there’s anyone out there, come out now!”

When Linhardt peeked out of the caravan, he sees that the source of the boisterous voice was a man in heavy armor that is so white, anyone can probably see him from miles away. Right behind him was a gruff looking man whose face’s natural state seems to be a perpetual frown and a teal-haired man who looks like their soul left their body a long time ago. Three other people followed, all wearing the same uniform, and nicely color-coded to the primary colors. Linhardt briefly wonders if they're a band of young heroes who are destined to defeat giant monsters with the power of friendship. Because they should be.

“Who are you? Are you one of the bandits?”

Linhardt forcibly tries to drag his body out of the caravan, only to remember that his ankles are still chained (again). The gruff guy with weird hair seemed to notice the clinking sounds of metal and entered the caravan himself.

“Hmm… I see. I think I get what happened here.” The man glanced around the place for keys but quickly decided to break the chains with his sword instead. Now free, Linhardt finally manages to crawl out of the damn thing… only for his legs to feel heavy. And his arms. And his head.

He forces himself to stand up as straight as he can, as painful as it is. “Are you…?” Upon closer look, he vaguely recognizes the crest that was engraved in the upbeat man’s armor. That crest… right, it was the Crest of Seiros.

“Are you okay? Those cuffs… were you kidnapped?”

Linhardt nodded. Kind of. Not really. Maybe.

One of the younger people, the one with blonde hair and a blue cape, spoke up. “You don’t look well at all. You need to get medical attention right away!” He seems like the earnest kind of guy. Linhardt already likes him.

A strangely familiar-looking girl with striking white hair stepped forward. “Indeed. Captain Alois, are there any healers in your group? Or perhaps any vulneraries on hand?”

“Ah, no. There aren’t any monks in our small patrol group, but--”

“It’s fine. I’m alright.” Linhardt tries to ignore the fact that his voice sounds like a dying whale. Unfortunately for him, no one else tried.

The yellow banana looking guy (nice braid) raised his right eyebrow. “You sure don’t look like it. Hey, how many fingers am I holding?” He makes a peace sign in front of Linhardt’s face.

“Two?”

“Bzzt. It’s zero. I’m technically not ‘holding’ any of my fingers.” The smug banana man’s smile makes Linhardt’s energy levels to deplete from 10% to 1%. That 1% is the only thing that’s stopping him from collapsing on the spot.

“Claude, this is serious. I don’t see any external wounds on him, but it seems like he’s in dire need of rest. How about we bring him back to the monastery and let him recover there? That’s where we’re headed for anyway.”

“Dimitri, are you actually blind? Look! His chest is…!”

Linhardt looks down. Oh, blood is seeping into his shirt and jacket. He doesn’t feel pain, oddly enough, but the sight made him want to hurl.

Linhardt shuts his eyes closed when he starts doing just that. His bones and muscles start to fail him, and soon enough, his face met the comfort of Mother Nature’s embrace aka dirt.

That 1% of energy is now 0%. Curse that banana man named Claude.

The voices outside didn’t even register in his mind.

* * *

When Linhardt woke up, he was greeted with a familiar smell-- yes, it’s the smell of medical herbs. That’s what it is. His arms, his legs-- his whole body felt tired. He could barely muster the energy to keep his eyes open.

Then, he hears a woman’s voice.

“Don’t move too much. Alois told me all about it. He acted like he was going to die when you dropped onto the floor.”

“Mmm… who are you?” Linhardt couldn’t open his eyes very much, but he could tell that the woman before him is wearing some big white thing and a revealing… dress? She seems like the fashionable sort, not that Linhardt knows anything about that.

“I’m the physician and a professor of this monastery. The name’s Manuela. And yours?”

“...Linhardt.”

“Well then, Linhardt. I suggest going back to sleep now. The knights did a good job with first aid despite not having any monks with them. You better thank them later, alright? That wound near your heart wasn’t something to joke about.”

Linhardt likes the idea of more sleep, so he just gave a slight nod before letting the demon of sleep take him once again.

Eventually, his body got enough sleep and instead of seeing that woman, Manuela, he saw a man with green hair like his. He looked strict-- the type of guy that Linhardt wouldn’t get along and definitely doesn’t want to argue with. He removed the bandages on Linhardt, revealing unscarred skin-- as if the whole bleeding thing never happened. After putting on his now clean clothes, the stern artichoke man told him something about Lady Rhea wanting to meet him.

Rhea.

Huh. That’s a name Linhardt would never forget.

And look at him-- facing her in all of her past glory.

“I apologize for calling so soon after your recovery. Are you well?” 

“Oh. Yes. I am well. Quite well.”

“That’s good to hear. Alois has filled me in the events that transpired near Remire Village. Kidnappings don’t happen often, but there are times when unsavory people steal not only goods but people, in order to participate in underground markets. The Knights being there at that moment was nothing short of good fortune. The goddess smiles upon you, child.”

“If it’s alright for me to ask, where exactly am I?”

“Oh, of course. I am Archbishop Rhea; apologies for the late introduction. This is, and I welcome you to, Garreg Mach Monastery, home to the Officers Academy and headquarters of the Central Church. This man here is Seteth.” Seteth gives a wordless, stiff nod. “Professor Manuela said that your name is Linhardt, correct?”

There’s no mistaking it now, even though it was technically already clear when that bandit said it was 1180. It’s safe to assume that Linhardt managed to land into the past after accidentally activating the machine he was working on. Instead of opening up an alternate dimension as he wanted, the hole he ended up creating caused him to transport several centuries in the past-- or at least something resembling it. There are no true absolutes in this kind of situation, but there is little use in wracking his brain over something he cannot prove at the moment.

That being said, if this place truly is the past, it may be troublesome to reveal his last name. Since he knows that if the Church of Seiros exists, then the nobility must as well-- and that very nobility included the Hevrings.

“Linhardt. Yes, that is my name.” 

“I see. If I may ask, where do you hail from? Your clothing is unlike anything I’ve seen in Fodlan.”

“I…” Now, Linhardt has lied before, but he doesn’t make it a habit. Coming up with one on the spot was difficult enough to make him pause, and in order to not make the conversation awkward, he ended up blurting the first thing that came to mind. Play ignorant.

“... It’s hard to say.”

“Hard… to say?”

“I know a few things about myself. I know my name and age. I remember how to use white magic, but…. To be honest, I don’t know much outside of that. The last thing I remember is waking up in that caravan that belonged to the bandits-- the same one where the knights rescued me. Everything before that is… blurry.”

Rhea nods thoughtfully. “It is true that you weren’t in a good state. Even if you ignore your nearly fatal wound, Professor Manuela reported that you didn’t seem you were eating well and your skin was paler than it was healthy. Since there was no way of telling how long you were the bandits’ captive ...” Rhea sighs. “There’s no use discussing this. Regardless of your background, you are more than welcome to stay under the Church’s protection, whether you regain your memory or not.”

“Oh. Is that really alright?”

“Of course, dear child. You said that you know white magic, correct? Perhaps you’d like to be an aide for the infirmary? As I’ve told you before, Garreg Mach houses the Officers Academy, which trains students in the art of combat, magic, and the like. Because of that, injuries aren’t uncommon, so your help would be a great asset.” The archbishop’s eyes widen at an epiphany. “Actually, if you’d like, you can also join as a student. You’d be within the age range of your peers, so--”

“Ah, no, that’s alright. I’m not interested in learning how to kill people.” Before Seteth could open his mouth, Linhardt continued. “... I’ll take up on your offer as an infirmary aide. I do owe to the Church for saving me and all, and I don’t exactly have a place to belong at the moment. It’s only natural for me to stick around.” 

Really, Linhardt isn’t keen on the job despite his healing abilities, solely because he’ll inevitably have to witness blood a lot. However, when he said that he owes the Church and that there is nowhere else to go, it wasn’t a lie. In fact, Rhea’s generosity makes everything nearly perfect for him. Garreg Mach is a place of much historical significance and despite efforts to preserve it, there was an incident about a decade ago (in terms of Linhardt’s original timeline) where the whole place was set on fire. Many precious pieces of art were lost into the flames and Adrestia grieved despite its history with the corrupt Church of Seiros. It’d be a good opportunity to snoop around now that it’s still here….

Plus, if the history he knows lines up with his current reality, it wouldn’t be wise to provoke Rhea’s darker traits, as kind as she may seem right now.

“Very well. I shall report this to Professor Manuela of this arrangement. Seteth, there should be a spare room in the knights’ quarters for him to use. Please guide him there and inform him of his future duties on the way.”

“Will do. Come now, Linhardt. We must be off.”

...

Hubert heard everything.

It’s only a natural part of his duties. The time when the plan is set in motion, everything must be perfect. All outliers must be accounted for.

There were two people of interest: the mercenary that saved Lady Edelgard’s life and a boy who was dragged to the monastery along with said mercenary.

The former is more striking, and not just for protecting Lady Edelgard when the plan to assassinate Claude and Dimitri went haywire. (Hubert gets the feeling that Edelgard wasn’t particularly confident in the plan anyway, but the results still managed to shock them.) He is the son of the famous Blade Breaker and is also renowned as the Ashen Demon for his mercilessness. There’s a mysterious air about him when he conversed with Hubert and the rest of the class and his face doesn’t betray any emotion. Indeed, he is a powerful outsider and one that was easily granted the position of a professor from the archbishop! With his connections to the Church, it’s only natural to assume that he’ll be an obstacle in the future, but Lady Edelgard seems to be hesitant to agree. Not that matters for now-- removing him now would be too hasty and ill-timed anyways.

The other boy is even more mysterious despite his situation being less strange.

The Church has taken orphans and victims of misfortunes before-- most of which are later employed by the Church as loyal servants, whether it be for gratitude or out of convenience. In this particular case, the situation is almost identical to prior incidents.

However.

Lady Edelgard told him about the aftermath of the battle with the bandits. The Knights of Seiros appeared and soon after, one of their men saw the glow of white magic from a caravan. The boy was discovered there and was deemed to be a victim of attempted human trafficking. He wore clothes that suggest that he’s a foreigner from land no one has ever heard of and yet, spoke Fodlan’s language fluently. His apparent skills in Faith is indicative of the fact that he can not only read but also have the resources to learn such spells. This means he is of high enough standing to get the opportunity to be taught or is from a large church that taught him on a whim, perhaps after seeing his talent.

(And that's not even touching the issue regarding to how he suddenly bled in front of the house leaders. After he collapsed, they saw no old bandages wrapped around his chest. It wasn't an old wound reopening-- it was fresh, as if he was slashed by an invisible blade right in front of the witnesses. Incredibly strange.)

He should logically be a commoner given the circumstances he was found in, and yet… it doesn’t feel that way despite lacking a noble’s demeanor. He hasn’t heard a noble family working up a fuss about missing a son, but that wouldn’t matter if he lacked a crest or an illegitimate child….

The archbishop’s offer to work as a medical assistant sounds logical, but her offer as a student struck Hubert as strange. It’s about as strange as her offering the position of a professor to a mercenary she supposedly never met. Even if a commoner were to enroll in the Academy, it usually requires either a large sum of money and/or noble connections. Hubert can’t help but feel that the archbishop has some ulterior motive involving the boy and the new professor. The question is if they are in on it or not.

To add another unpredictable factor, there’s the issue of him being amnesiac. There are too many possibilities to consider. The boy, Linhardt, could easily be lying and is allying with the Church for an ulterior motive. He could be telling the truth, but recovering his memory could lead him to develop a character that Hubert cannot anticipate. If he never regains his memory, he could still become attached to the Church and become an asset to their cause. The only thing that calms Hubert is that this Linhardt person appears to be unwilling to learn self-defense via the Officers Academy, despite being kidnapped by bandits. Perhaps he felt safe enough with the Church and their knights on his side. It wouldn’t be hard to remove him if no one is there to defend him if this keeps up.

Regardless, Hubert gets a bad feeling about these strangers. He’ll need to keep an eye out for the both of them just in case.

…

Claude von Riegan likes to fashion himself as a perceptive guy. Given his background, it’s more or less a necessity, especially when it comes to the political games Alliance nobles like to play. Openings aren’t always easy to come by, so when there is one, Claude is determined to always be ready to see one and pounce. Always.

So here’s the thing.

He might’ve snooped into that Linhardt guy’s pockets on the way back to the monastery. 

Okay, he knows that stealing is wrong and all of that stuff. If he was a better person, he would return it right away, but… the object in question is much too intriguing to not investigate because, you know, it’s better for Claude’s heart if he satiates his curiosity now. He has never seen such an object like this before… whatever this strange slab thing is. It doesn’t look like metal (entirely) and it… seems to have a button of some sort? And when you press on that button, the rectangular slab glows up! On the previously black area, time and date are displayed on it, but it surely isn’t the current time. Heck, the year is completely off. Claude supposes that ‘being a calender’ isn’t part of this thing’s job, but that just raises even more questions. 

Pressing the button a second time makes something else pop on the screen-- numbers? ‘Enter passcode…’ Oh, so like a password but with numbers. Claude gets that, but what exactly happens when he enters the right number? As far as he knew, entering the wrong number could, well, activate a death trap. It might be a tad too dangerous, but…

Claude decides to follow his gut and gives it a shot. He presses ‘1’, ‘2’, ‘3’, then ‘4’.

The phone unlocks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Caspar actually appears!


	3. shifting history

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Linhardt telling himself to not to change the timeline too much and failing spectacularly.

Linhardt’s and Byleth’s arrival at Garreg Mach became a hot topic amongst the students. Nobles and commoners alike participated in idle gossip-- perhaps to waste away the boredom until the school year starts in earnest. The chatter wasn’t louder than usual, but if one were to hear every single conversation in the academy, they would find most of them are almost identical in the subject matter. (There was even a rumor that the event where Byleth saved the house leaders’ lives was foreshadowed by the ‘scar of light’ incident by the goddess, but that theory didn’t have the traction to catch fire within the students’ hearts.) While Linhardt spent most of the day sleeping to recover from his mysterious injury, Byleth, now burdened with the role of a professor, went around the monastery to get to know the students.

And as time went on, he found the decision to become more and more difficult. It’s a bit silly how indecisive he’s being over this of all things. From his understanding, after the year is over, whoever he’s teaching will be gone doing whatever important things they’re destined to do and he-- well, he doesn’t even know if he would still be teaching or return to his life as a mercenary. His father says that he doesn’t have to force himself, but it wasn’t false to say that he was curious about academy life. It’s fresh and new-- something different in his life aside from the changing faces he cuts down.

The three house leaders all made big impressions on him-- like a colorful cast of characters you get to know when you read a story. Edelgard was serious and put-together. She’ll probably be a stern no-nonsense ruler, but also one that is willing enough to give people the chance to speak, even if she were to ultimately disagree. Dimitri, despite the darkness underneath his words, is genuinely kind, and sincerely believes in helping those in need. He’ll be a king that would be loved by his people. And lastly, Claude is the most mysterious and it’s hard to discern his true face, but Byleth can’t imagine the future Alliance leader as a bad guy. He may not value honor, but he’s fun to be around and he can see how Claude puts a smile on other people’s faces.

Indeed, this is a very difficult decision for him. He wonders why Lady Rhea puts so much trust in him. Is it just because she knew Jeralt before? It’s odd.

Byleth sits up from his resting spot. Maybe talking with more of the students can give him a better idea of what house to pick. There are more students outside of the leaders after all.

* * *

After Seteth showed him his new room, Linhardt, under normal circumstances, would’ve sat there for the rest of the day, indulging whatever reading he wished to partake in or napping. But Linhardt knew that he’ll have plenty of time for that later on, and he cannot deny that his situation is nothing short of miraculous-- one that he will not fail to take advantage of. Not everyone gets the chance to land themselves into the far past and in the year 1180 at that.

1180….

Wait, isn’t that a year before the Edelgard attacked Garreg Mach?

Linhardt slaps himself in the face. Of course, it is only now when it hits him that he might be caught up in the flames of war if he stays here. But even after realizing that, the fact that he has nowhere else to go hasn’t changed. If he recalls correctly, Edelgard was a student here, right? Hence why she was able to make such an attack in the first place. Maybe if he managed to get along with her and side with the Empire, all will be well as long as he avoids the frontlines, but--

Ugh, what a pain. It’s one thing to simply know history, and it’s another to juggle pieces in a political landscape. Linhardt can’t say he particularly cares about changing the future or hell, even have plans on returning to the present, assuming that’s even possible. 

Thinking about it, it’s somewhat ironic how Linhardt would still prefer staying in the past than returning to his relatively peaceful home. His knowledge of Fodlan’s bloody future makes it easier for him to reach the peaceful future he wanted than before. Too many unknowns prevented him from running away, so he ended up indulging in an almost fantastical solution of opening up a pocket dimension to remedy that.

But here? Not only does he know that the war will happen, but he remembers the locations of the most significant battles, why those battles happen, and most importantly, the winners of that war. Technology is limited, so he doesn’t have to worry about things like security cameras or investigative techniques that people came up with in the future and so forth. As long as he keeps his head down and makes the right decisions, he can find the place of his dreams-- the place called Paradise. The path is clear, so to speak.

So in short, it would be best for Linhardt to not change history too much if he wants everything to stay in-line with his ‘predictions’. Hopefully, his very presence isn’t enough for that.

For now, he decides that he should indulge in all of what Garreg Mach has to offer. He knows that it’s later renovated during the postwar era, but you never know what could have potentially been lost. It’s best to investigate while the place is still in its prime.

On a side note, there are also questions regarding what exactly happened with the portal. Time travel wasn’t exactly close to the intended effect, but with how intertwined time and space are, perhaps it should’ve been expected. It would be… difficult to discover more about time travel in his current reality, given how little information there was in his original timeline. However, knowing that Relic and Crest research was what made the whole thing possible, maybe he’ll discover something unexpected if he dives deeper into Crestology.

This reminds him of something-- Hanneman von Essar is a professor in the Officers Academy.

Before Seteth left, he told Linhardt to get to know with the rest of the faculty, as there may be a chance where Manuela is… incapacitated by drinking too many ‘refreshing beverages’ and Linhardt might need to fetch some help if something like that were to happen. Linhardt was both surprised and unsurprised that the legendary (by Linhardt’s standards) Father of Crestology was so close to him at this very instant. He vaguely remembered his biography saying that he was a professor at one point, but not the exact time. Linhardt plans on talking to him at some point, but for now, he might as well leisurely explore his new workplace. He’s a bit tired from talking anyways.

Unfortunately for Linhardt, things didn’t go the way he wanted them to go.

You see, Linhardt had no clue where he was going without a map on hand (Thanks, Seteth) and he loathes the idea of asking someone for directions when he doesn’t have to, so he ended up wandering around aimlessly, absorbing the environment through his senses. It’s not like he had a terrible sense of direction, so he figured he’d be fine. Eventually, Linhardt wound up passing by the large gates that led to the training grounds and entered it out of curiosity.

The moment he stepped foot inside, a piece of wood smacked him right at the center of his face.

It was like fate really had it out for him, huh.

A young, boyish voice rang out. “Oh, whoops! Are you okay?!”

Linhardt swears to the goddess that he isn’t okay and as the goddess gazes down onto his poor, frail body, she gently whispers, “If you put some spit into it, you’ll be okay.” Curse the goddess for being as lazy as he is. Like, okay, that’s relatable, but curses. 

Oh and some blue guy is looking at him.

“Hey! Can you hear me?!”

Oh no, some blue guy is getting close to him. His face is--

“Everyone five miles away can hear you loud and clear, sir.” Linhardt forces himself to stand up and sees that the blue guy is holding a wooden training sword that’s been split in half. So that’s what hit him. Jeez.

“Dude, you’re bleeding.” Oh, he is. Linhardt brings his hand to his forehead and felt the warm liquid. Ugh. Now there’s blood on his hands-- and just enough to make him feel ill. 

The blue cotton candy man throws his broken sword towards the training grounds without a shred of care before facing Linhardt again. “I’ll bring you the infirmary.”

“No, you really don’t--”

“Nah, it’s cool. It was an accident, but it was my fault all the same. You must be that new kid that came with the cool mercenary guy, yeah? Everyone has been talking about how you had weird clothes. Not that I know anything about fashion, so--” And, Linhardt tunes out his words. Mr. Cotton Candy’s smile is so bright and happy-- Linhardt can’t believe this is a real person. The capability of showing such an unabashed display of happiness is a gift that Linhardt doesn’t possess.

And what about weird clo-- right. Linhardt thinks to himself that he should really get himself some clothes that actually fit in with the rest. Does he even have money to do that? Wait, is he even getting paid for his work? Damn, he needs to get his mind out of the gutter if he wants to stop making such stupid mistakes. He’ll just ask Seteth later. Another thing to add to the to-do list that he’ll inevitably forget about. Great.

Linhardt lets the shorty mcshort candy man drag him (and by drag, he meant being lumped over the guy’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried off) to the infirmary, which is nice given that Linhardt already forgot where it was. It was the same as he remembered before, and once again, Manuela wasn’t present.

“Ah, Professor Manuela isn’t here. I can go to her of--”

“No, it’s fine, really. Thanks for bringing me here. I can bandage myself here.” Not that it’ll require that much. Linhardt could probably just slather vulnerary liquid onto his face and it’ll work out. (Okay, not really.) Though it would be a lot easier if he can just cast white magic, alas, even with all of the inventions and innovations humanity has created, they cannot figure out how to cast such magic on oneself directly. (Some people can do it, but it requires healing someone else too and eh. Too bothersome to whack Shorty and reverse engineer the technique on the spot.)

As Linhardt starts reaching out for the first aid kit, the local blue shorty of the Officers Academy spoke up. “Well, um. Sorry, for what happened back there. Whacked the training dummy too hard and all.”

“Again, it’s fine. I’m sure training took all of your focus and whatever.”

“You sure?” Linhardt nods. Yes, candy man. I am quite sure. “You screamed out in pain and started mumbling prayers to the goddess. I seriously thought you were seriously hurt!” … Okay, maybe Linhardt tried to play off the pain cooler than it actually was. And just when he thought he managed to fool himself. The memory doesn’t make the disinfection of his head wound less painful.

“Oh. That. I was just.” Please, words, don’t fail me now, he prays. “I was being… overdramatic. Like usual. Don’t worry about it.”

The shorty remained unconvinced, but instead of pressing further, he just sighs. “If you say so. My name is Caspar, by the way. Caspar von Bergliez. If you couldn’t tell before, I’m part of the Black Eagle house within the Officers Academy.” So the blueberry muffin’s name is Caspar. Noted, but….

Linhardt starts wrapping the bandage over his head. “Bergliez… Bergliez….”

“Hmm? You recognize my name or something?”

“I-- it does sound familiar, though I can’t put my finger on it.” And it’s on the tip of his tongue! Just what was it….

Caspar, the short stack blueberry pancakes, presses his finger onto his forehead in thought. “I mean, my family isn’t exactly a small-time noble family. Maybe you heard about my father? He’s the current Minister of Military Affairs in the Empire. His name gets around.”

“...Perhaps.” No, that isn’t it. Linhardt swears he heard that exact name, Caspar von Bergliez, specifically in the future, but he just can’t-- ugh. Thinking on it is just tiring himself out to the point where it’s almost painful.

“What’s your name then?”

“Oh, uh.” Goddess, Linhardt is starting to suspect that this is some sort of side effect from time traveling. He’s losing his grip on his words so easily. “Linhardt. Just Linhardt.”

“Okay, Linhardt. I’m Caspar von Bergliez!”

“You… you already said that.”

Caspar had the nerve to look surprised. “Oh, yeah. I did, didn’t I? Whoops.” And there he goes-- blinding Linhardt’s retinas with his wide genuine smile like nothing is wrong with the world. Linhardt can’t take this. He can’t take any more of this… sweetness. Yes, that’s the word. Linhardt normally loves sweets, but this guy is so downright saccharine, it drives him to be two seconds away from crying.

For once, the goddess sheds a single tear of mercy on Linhardt’s poor soul. She really is a cruel mistress-- saving him from death only after hours of torture.

“Anyways, uh. Since you got it handled here, I’ll be making my exit here. See ya later, Lin!”

Lin.

A nickname.

Linhardt absentmindedly waved as Caspar’s figure disappear. When the door closed behind the boy, Linhardt walked over to one of the infirmary’s beds and smashed his face into the pillow. What’s wrong with him? Seriously, what is happening to him? First, he starts bleeding for no apparent reason and now he’s slowly losing his ability to talk like a normal person.

If Linhardt was less tired, he would mechanically mull about his current condition as a possible negative effect the machine can have on his body, but now? He doesn’t even have the energy to consider it. He crashes into his dreamworld in mere seconds.

* * *

When Linhardt opened his eyes for the umpteenth time, his body is, as per usual, about as sluggish as he was before.

A man wearing a yellow cape (Claude. Someone called him that.) was sitting on a chair with a book in hand. He was looking at Linhardt, presumably after hearing the green-haired boy stir. “Looks like sleeping beauty is finally awake. Had a good nap?”

Linhardt didn’t remember putting a blanket over himself, so that must’ve been Claude’s doing.

Claude puts the book he was holding on the side. “I didn’t want to disturb you since you were resting so peacefully, but I gotta say, haven’t you been sleeping a bit too much? I heard you were running around the monastery, so I assumed you recovered.” Claude lets out an exaggerated sigh. “And yet, here you are, passed out in the infirmary once again… with a bandage on your head this time.”

“I assure you that this isn’t like the mysterious injury from before. Talking and walking around-- it’s all so tiresome that it just makes me want to lull into another world where I’m dreaming in a dream within a dream. This is normal for me... I think.” Linhardt almost bit his bottom lip. He needs to remember that he’s pretending to be an amnesiac. Claude looks unconvinced. 

“You think?”

“Exactly. I ‘think’. I suppose they didn’t tell you yet, but I don’t remember much about my past. Most of what I know about myself are merely educated guesses.” 

“Hmm. Really?” Claude isn’t buying it, but after this question, he’ll put that statement to the test. “Well, anyways. If you were just tired, why rest here? The church must’ve given you a room by now.” Linhardt is really, really not liking the look the walking banana is giving. That smug look… it speaks ‘I know something that you don’t and instead of addressing it right away, I’m going to play with my food like a bored child.’ Linhardt is now banana food. Just when he thought he couldn’t be lower on the food chain. 

“They did. I came here because… let’s just say that just a little while ago, I was brutally slaughtered by a candy man’s broken sword.”

Now that forced a confused reaction out of Claude’s face. “A… candy man?”

“His name is Caspar if I recall. His hair color reminded me of candy.”

Claude decides to brush the ‘brutally slaughtered’ part of Linhardt’s words under the ‘it’s a joke’ box and call it a day. “Caspar… He’s in the Black Eagle house, isn't he?” Despite being a house leader, he doesn’t know much about the students from other houses, but with how violently loud Caspar can be… he can imagine a situation that would send Linhardt running back to the infirmary. “I haven’t heard of a candy that was that shade of blue, but I’ll take your word on it.” 

Did pale blue candy not exist in 1180? Whatever, let’s not press on that. “What about you? The infirmary isn’t a library, you know.”

“You got me there, though I think you can guess why I’m here without me telling.” Linhardt getting a little impatient for once in his life. Why is this man so dodgy over answers he can easily just say himself? 

He sighs. “Just tell me what you want.”

“I wanted to return something that I believe to be yours. I found it on the way to the monastery.” Claude reached into his pocket and pulled out an... object of some sort. Linhardt tried rubbing his eyes. It can’t possibly what he thinks it is…? Goddess, please. Linhardt forces himself to sit upwards and moved his legs so that it dangles from the edge of the bed. 

Claude continued talking. “You had an interesting device on you, you know. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Linhardt crosses his legs. Play dumb, he tells himself. If he plays dumb long enough, maybe it’ll be enough to delude himself into thinking that the current conversation isn’t happening. Head empty. Bottom text. “Whatever do you mean, good sir?” he says stiffly.

“I’m talking about this thing.” When Claude held up Linhardt’s phone inches away from the boy’s face, it was only then when his vision unblurs. At that instant, many thoughts ran through the poor boy’s mind, all of which were indecipherable when his brain decided that is was a good idea to short-circuit at that moment. Really? Is this really happening? It is happening, and because it is, Claude continued.

“It fell out of your pocket and I wanted to give this back to you, but you can’t blame a guy for being curious, right? I never saw a device like this before my whole life! It responds to the touch of my fingers even though I didn’t use magic!”

“...”

Linhardt silence beckons concern to bleed into Claude’s face. “Um. Are you there? Do you need Professor Manuela for real? Did Caspar actually kill you and your soul finally left its mortal shell? Linhardt?” When Claude started shaking Linhardt’s body, that’s when he finally woke up from his stupor to push Claude’s arms away.

Linhardt’s throat felt dry. “Can you please give it back?”

“Sure.” Claude tosses the phone back into Linhardt’s hands. When Linhardt presses the home button, he sees that it’s operating as normal… and blatantly showing the time and date it would’ve been if Linhardt was still in time he was originally from.

Great, just great. But he has a role to play, so all he has to do is just brush it off with ‘oh, I don’t know what this is, sweetie, because I’m amnesiac boo hoo’.

“By the way, couldn’t you come up with a better passcode than ‘1234’? I seriously got it on my first try.”

Shit.

“What do you know?” How unfortunate that Linhardt doesn’t have the power to turn back the hands of time at this very instant because that power would be incredibly useful right now.

“How about you tell me who you really are?”

“Look, banana man. I’m too tired to play mind games. Just-- Just tell me what you know so I don’t have to repeat what you already pieced together.” It wasn’t too late for Linhardt to feign ignorance at this point, but he needed to know what Claude knows and anyone can tell that Claude is too crafty to reveal his cards if Linhardt doesn’t. Feigning ignorance will just mean future pestering. If he managed to piece together that Linhardt is from the future….

Damn, he doesn’t know where to go with this.

“Fine, fine. I guess this is alright, too, but you’re not leaving before it’s over, got it?” Claude cleared his throat before he started his long explanation.

“To be honest, even after looking through this device, I don’t know exactly what it’s supposed to be. It seems like it can do a lot of things and if I had to venture a guess, each of those little boxes you can press on symbolize a function this thing can do. For example, when I touched the box that said ‘camera’, it made the screen look different. After experimenting with it a bit, I can tell that it can save perfectly realistic images of the world.”

In reality, Claude wasn’t able to explore too much about the object’s functions before being interrupted. Not only did Hilda barge into his room while he was investigating (he already forgotten why she did, it was probably some chore), the new professor, Byleth, took a huge chunk of time when he practically interrogated Claude about the characteristics of his classmates. As tempting as it was, Claude has no plans on revealing Linhardt’s device to the public, especially when he as so little information on it. Seeing that this is likely something Linhardt wants to keep a secret, it’s better to get the information straight from the horse’s mouth, and then keep this information as a potential source of leverage over the boy. That’s why he didn’t want to whip this thing out in public. He'd rather avoid prying questions if possible.

Not that he has any immediate use for blackmail, but just like the poisons he makes in his spare time, you never know when it comes in handy. For now, he’ll try to pretend to know more than he actually does in order for Linhardt to spill the beans.

Linhardt opened the lock and under images, he sees pictures of a bedroom he never saw before. It seems like Claude was telling the truth-- he must’ve been taking pictures of his dorm room when he was messing around. Seeing that he understands that the phone ‘saves’ images, he probably checked the camera roll.

“Did you see the other images? The ones that you didn’t take, I mean.”

“Yeah. You took a lot of pictures of cats, didn’t you?” There were pictures of other things as well, but Claude wasn’t able to look through all of them before Hilda’s intervention. There wasn’t a single picture of another person or even Linhardt himself, strangely enough, but there were images of... ‘art’ if you can call it that. Claude can’t even begin to imagine where Linhardt got them from.

“Cats are cute. They make good napping partners.” Linhardt indeed filled his phone with adorable cat pictures, but Claude doesn’t seem to understand that Linhardt didn’t take all of those pictures. Most of them were saved images from social media. Makes sense-- the Internet doesn’t exist in 1180, so Claude would naturally think that all of those images were taken by Linhardt himself. In fact, none of the phone’s functions regarding communications would work, whether it be instant messaging or calls.

Speaking of which…

“What else do you know about the phone?”

“Phone? Is that what its called?”

Linhardt nods. No harm in putting a name on an otherwise unknown object.

“W-Well. As I said, I don’t know what this thing’s main purpose is. It seems to do a lot of things, but a good number of them don’t seem to work. I tried checking that compass looking box and even when the screen changed, it didn’t seem that I could do much.”

“Which ‘boxes’ did you check exactly?”

“All of them, of course.” That’s a lie. He only managed to check the compass box, the ‘camera’, ‘photos’, ‘settings’, and ‘calendar’. ‘Settings’ was the first one Claude checked, but he didn’t understand a lick of what’s shown there and his gut told him he might mess something up, so he wanted to look over that one last.

“That’s impossible,” Linhardt said flatly.

“And how do you know that?”

“Because you wouldn’t be asking who I am if you actually did look through all of them. You aren’t dumb.” Claude’s smile widens at the compliment.

“Ah, so the key to your identity is stored in there? Duly noted.” Yeah, go figure, Sherlock. Linhardt knows that he isn’t making it a secret that the phone contains something he wants to hide. Claude’s lackadaisical attitude is just a front to hide the fact that he learned absolutely nothing from Linhardt’s own mouth.

However, Claude did have one last thing up his sleeve.

“I did check the calendar, though. The time is off, too.”

If Linhardt wasn’t secretly preparing a response, he probably would’ve frozen on the spot, gave up, spilled the tea, and then proceed to delude himself into thinking that this wouldn’t bite him in the ass. But that wasn’t the case, miraculously. Linhardt’s brain decided to function normally for once.

Making sure that Claude could not see what was on the screen, Linhardt went into settings, turned off the ‘set automatically’ tab under ‘Date & Time’, and only then did he angle the phone so that Claude could see the screen. This was disguised as a minor action, but each move was strategic. Claude may not be familiar with phones all that well, but he’s smart enough to catch on what Linhardt was doing if he were to make inferences from the other options on the screen. That’s why Linhardt angled the phone instead of positioning the phone to appear upright from Claude’s point of view. Reading upside down would make it harder for Claude to catch onto Linhardt’s bullshit.

“The date is like that because I was messing around with the date and time. See here? You can change it back to the correct date like this.” Linhardt made the motions as quickly as he could, not bothering to go all the way back to 1180. He’ll do that later. For now, just showing Claude that he could change the date and time is enough. Once Linhardt finished that, he goes to the calendar app to show the changes. Only then did Linhardt flip his phone to look upright to Claude.

The house leader crosses his legs and looks at the phone with an unreadable expression. 

“Does this answer your question?” 

“I… guess it does. Linhardt, I--” Claude stops himself. This conversation didn’t exactly go the way he wanted to. Despite not falling asleep or running away, Linhardt managed to slip away from revealing his biggest secret with his words alone. He doesn’t look like he’s lying, but… there’s something else. Claude underestimated him. He should’ve held onto the phone and force a confession that way. If there is one silver lining, it’s that he now knows for sure that Linhardt’s secret is one being kept consciously and not because Linhardt genuinely forgot. With the facts laid out as it is, there’s only one conclusion that makes sense to him.

“I’m not 100% sure on this, but… you’re a foreigner, right? You’re pretending to be amnesiac to hide that fact-- no. You’re trying to hide your place of origin, to be more precise. Wherever that place maybe, that is where you got this phone.” 

Linhardt lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. It’s funny how right and yet how wrong Claude is. This is fine, he thought. He can work with this, even if it isn’t ideal.

“Rumors are already floating around about your identity, but I think most think you’re just a random commoner the knights saved. Not too many people are as observant as I am, but I suggest you change out your clothes sooner or later. Your skill with Fodlan’s language is pretty good, but you should never cross out the possibility of your origins being traced by your appearance and possessions alone.”

That’s… an oddly frank piece of advice. “You talk as if you’re speaking out of your personal experience.”

“Hah, that’s just your imagination. Think of this as an apology for troubling you, but you must understand-- I merely have the desire to seek the truth in all things.” He says that so proudly-- his inability to sound remotely genuine was about as clear as polished glass. 

“I think you meant ‘the desire to possess secrets so that you can lock under your mind vault’.”

Claude winks in the most insufferable way possible. “What can I say? Isn’t it normal to have a healthy pursuit of knowledge?” 

“Except yours is riddled with ulterior motives. It's honestly unfair. Prying into other people’s business without revealing anything about yourself.” Claude laughs at that. An unapologetic schemer-- truly, his mortal enemy.

“Indeed. Why be fair when things can fall into my favor instead?” This guy… is a real piece of work. A vulture who feeds upon tortured souls of the dead-- souls like Linhardt.

Claude suddenly stood up and stretched. “Well, now that you got your phone back, I think I’m about done here. Don’t worry about your phone. I promise to not blab about your little secret.”

His words don’t exactly spark confidence when Linhardt has nothing to hold against Claude. “Just one more thing, banana.”

“B-Banan--”

“My name is Linhardt.”

Claude blinked owlishly. “Well, yeah. I knew that.”

“What’s yours?”

“Oh, uh. Wow.” Oh, so now he’s being bashful. “Introductions slipped my mind. Sorry about that.” He gave a dry chuckle. “No use crying over spilled milk, though. My name is Claude. Claude von Riegan, the embodiment of unfairness, distrust, and most importantly, charm. I hope to get to know you better in the future, Linhardt.”

Claude took Linhardt’s hand from his side and firmly shook it before finally leaving, waving goodbye. Linhardt… really doesn’t want to meet Claude again, but he can feel in his bones that he will. He’s not looking forward to it, but he’ll need to watch over the guy if he wants to make sure he holds himself to his promise. If only he can just delete everything that happened during the past couple of hours.

Five seconds after Claude was gone, Linhardt collapses onto the ground. It’s nice and cold.

Just when Linhardt thought he could finally relax now that the human vulture, Claude von Riegan, had his fill of Linhardt’s dead corpse, another person walks in. Maybe if my dead body pretends to be actually dead, they’ll leave, he thought.

Unfortunately for Linhardt, it didn’t work and if Byleth thought that silence would make him feel less dead, he’s wrong. The awkward silence is beating his rotting carcass senseless. It felt like the flow of time was having revenge on Linhardt for punching a hole into her stomach, and now she decided to torture him by making the silence feel like an eternity before Byleth finally said something. “You’re Linhardt, yes?”

“I am. And you?”

“Byleth.” Byleth, huh. Linhardt definitely remembers that name. He was the legendary tactician that stood on the Emperor’s side during the war. It’s a well-known fact that the Emperor Edelgard deeply respected Byleth and acknowledged him as an irreplaceable ally. Some say that her feelings were borderline romantic, but as they were never married, no one can say for sure.

Byleth looks down. “The infirmary’s floor doesn’t look very comfortable.”

Linhardt rolls over face down. The floor muffles his voice. “Looks can be deceiving.”

Byleth makes a thoughtful noise and after a few moments, he decides to lay down next to Linhardt. Linhardt is losing his mind.

“I think the floor feels similar to what I imagined based its appearance. Are you sure you are not sick? Perhaps you’ve caught a disease that affects your senses.”

Linhardt, unable to summon the spirit and patience to explain literally anything, rolls onto his side to face his new conversation partner for the day. “The sickness I bear is incurable. No medicine in the world can help me.”

“A shame. Are you sure that there is nothing you can do?”

“I’m absolutely certain that there is no cure to my stupidity for I am nothing more than a mere infant.” An infant in a cruel world where he can rely on nothing-- not even himself. That much hasn’t changed between the two eras he’s experienced thus far.

“I didn’t know you were a baby, Linhardt.” Oh, lord.

“I didn’t know you were so good with kids, Mr. Professor To-Be.”

Five seconds after staring into each other's eyes, Linhardt started laughing like a madman. Byleth didn’t follow, which kind of made it awkward, but whatever. The green-haired boy made himself even more tired after he finished laughing so he might as well get to the point.

“Is there something you need from me?”

“Oh, right. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t know if you heard about it, but I was offered a position as a professor for the Officers Academy thanks to Alois’s recommendation and the Archbishop’s whims. I was told to get to know the students when we came back yesterday, but to be honest, I haven’t decided on which house to teach yet.”

“House?”

“The academy has three houses based on where the students originally lived. Black Eagles are for students from the Adrestian Empire, Blue Lions are for those from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and Golden Deer is comprised of students from the Leicester Alliance. Lady Rhea said that I can pick one of the houses to teach.” So that’s what Caspar meant by Black Eagles, Linhardt thought. Now that he thinks about it, the three students he met after the bandit attack were dressed differently than the other students he saw around the monastery. They probably hold some sort of position that’s equivalent to a class representative or a prefect.

After piecing the information he already knows, Linhardt can infer that those three ‘class representatives’ are Edelgard, Dimitri, and Claude, for each house respectively.

Linhardt feels nothing but pity for the house that has Claude as their leader.

“And you’re asking me because?”

“I was wondering if you knew anything about the students.”

“I’ve been floating on the river of my dreamscape for most of my time here so far, so my interaction with the student body has been less than limited. I can only go off of the handful of people I know based on the two whole seconds I knew them for.”

“That’s fine. Go ahead.”

“Claude von Riegan is terrible. An absolutely terrible banana vulture.”

“Banana vulture? Is he not human? Please elaborate.” Linhardt is unable to tell if Byleth’s look of surprise was fake or not.

“Bananas are yellow and he wears a yellow cape. He is a vulture because he fed upon my poor fragile soul for sustenance. He’s also smug and certainly the type to steal a kid’s lunch money.”

“Isn’t he a noble, though? Why would he steal money when he probably doesn’t need it?” It’s funny how Byleth decided to defend Claude through his background rather than his faith in his character. It goes to show what kind of impression Claude leaves on other people.

“For fun, of course. He’ll probably come up with a convoluted scheme to pair with it and then make sure everyone and their grandmas sees it. Why? Because that is simply his nature.”

Byleth is growing slightly concerned about the boy beside him. “I apologize if this comes off as rude, but it sounds like there’s a personal vendetta behind your words.”

“That’s because it is. I’m expressing my frustrations through exaggerations and lies.”

Byleth looks at him with an unimpressed expression. Linhardt ignores it and changes the subject.

“Instead of asking me, how about you tell me about your perspective? What do you think of the students, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Byleth rests a finger on his chin, formulating how to most accurately describe his assessments on the people he may be teaching in the future. “They all seem to be good students. The Golden Deer house seems to be the laxest, but I can tell that their camaraderie would make a good atmosphere. The Blue Lions all seem to have good hearts, even if some may not show that on their sleeve. As for the Black Eagles, well, there’s something about them that makes me quite taken with them.”

“That’s a little vague, isn’t it?”

“It’s difficult to describe. I suppose the best way to put it is that they’re interesting, and that part of the intrigue is that there is something... lurking beneath the surface?” Byleth sounded unsure by the end there.

Linhardt crosses his legs. “So you’re saying that your intuition is detecting a dark secret?”

“Not necessarily, but it could be.” Byleth likes to think he has a decent grasp of a person’s character. Although he didn’t participate in conversations much (his father did most of that), he did observe those conversations, and as a mercenary, he met all sorts of people. Granted, there’s no one out there to tell him whether he’s right or wrong but… 

“I sensed this in the Blue Lions as well, but one can guess that it has something to do with an event called the Tragedy of Duscur. It’s a common point that a handful of the students in that house have according to their profiles, and naturally, it’s not something they would want to talk about in the open. With the Black Eagles, it’s harder to tell. Aside from a single commoner, all of them seemed connected in some way. Most are nobility under the same nation, but the whole group comes off as… dysfunctional. Plus, Edelgard seems like the type who is better at hiding secrets than Dimitri.” And that’s not even mentioning how Hubert looks like the cunning, but loyal, sort. Who knows how many schemes that vampire-looking boy is capable of?

“Hmmm.” Linhardt has a good grasp of how things spiral out from here in his original timeline. As a student, he only remembers the broad strokes that the core curriculum has taught him so finer details are fuzzy on his mind. One year from now, Edelgard will make a strategic assault on the Church and thus starting the War of Unification. Linhardt was aware that Edelgard was a student in the Officers Academy even before coming to this time, but as history likes to favors the winners, he supposes that the attendance of the last king of Faerghus and the last leader of the Alliance in the Officers Academy was a mere footnote-- obscure details that students aren’t required to memorize on tests. This knowledge combined with the fact that Byleth was praised as a hero in the textbooks must mean that what Linhardt is witnessing right now is a key turning point in history!

...

… No, that can’t be it.

There are indeed rare times where it looks like all it took was a single visionary that revolutionized society, but that’s not true. There are key figures, sure, but when you get deep into it, you find how much there is influencing history outside of important-looking names. Edelgard’s manifesto and her background are only a part of a bigger story. The reasons why the Crest system existed for long, the reason why the Church did what they did, the reason why it was specifically Edelgard who called for change-- analyzing cause and effect is what is expected in history class.

And let’s not forget the other enemy Edelgard eventually took care of-- those who slither in the dark. 

(The Empire’s shadow war was eventually unearthed by historians at a much later time thanks to a key discovery-- Edelgard’s right-hand man, Hubert, stored journal entries in a locked safe. House Vestra’s secret war with those who slither in the dark was discovered and eventually, the location of that mysterious group’s base, Shambhala, or so he called it. Whatever transpired there must’ve been destructive since all there is left of Shambhala is ruins-- and the kind that left more questions than answers at that. Archeologists are still racking their brains over who these ‘slithers’ really are. There are several theories of what they could be like a deranged cult or even time travelers from the future. Hell, there is a popular conspiracy theory about how these ‘slithers’ were still alive as a secret society and are controlling the entire world in business and politics. Linhardt only remembers this because he recalls everyone talking about it one year and even when it died off like every other hot topic, people still made references to it. “The slithers are watching,” they said. It’s a bunch of baloney as far as Linhardt is concerned, though he supposes that at least Hubert’s records can be trusted. At least, he thinks so.)

Anyways.

The point is that there’s no way a single person like Byleth can overturn history on the off-chance where he chooses a different house to teach, right? Like, okay, Linhardt may have crash-landed onto a new timeline now that he’s here and all, but surely fate, for lack of a better word, can’t just be changed by something like this, the butterfly effect be damned. Not unless the man laying right next to him is hiding god-like powers up his sleeve or something.

Goddess, what a mess.

“Linhardt? Are you okay?”

“Oh, sorry. I was dozing off again. Did you ask something?”

Byleth nodded. “To be honest, on the way here I saw Claude walking out earlier. Since it must’ve been you he was talking to, I’m a little curious about what he wanted with you.”

“Nothing much.” Linhardt decides it would be more trouble if more people other than Claude started asking questions. He doesn’t need another conversation about his phone ever again. “He claimed that he wanted to meet me because he wants to get to know me better, but honestly? I think he’s the nosy sort of guy, probably out of some insatiable desire for knowledge… and not the kind you get from hitting the books.”

“So that’s why you had that impression of him….”

“What do you think?”

“I suppose if Edelgard comes off as more guarded than Dimitri, then Claude is even more so. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, but he’s good at distracting you from addressing it. He’s a fun person to be around, but I can’t tell if it’s a genuine part of him or if the whole thing is a facade.”

Huh. “Intuition, again?”

“I suppose. I said before that I think something was lurking beneath the Blue Lions and the Black Eagles, but with the Golden Deer as a whole… I don’t get that. It’s just Claude in this case.”

“Perhaps there’s something that separates Claude from the rest? I suppose it’s not surprising that everyone has secrets, but the way you said it made it sound like it’s Claude who holds the Golden Deer’s entire supply of secrets.”

“... I suppose so. He’s an interesting character for sure.” Byleth suddenly clapped his hands, startling Linhardt. “I’ve made my decision.”

“Hmm?”

“I was thinking about the Black Eagle house. After speaking with you, I have an idea about what their ‘darkness’ might be.”

“And that is?”

“Secret.” Linhardt expected a smug smile to be plastered on the older man’s face, but no. It’s eerily blank as always.

“Byleth, really? My insatiable demon of a cat is named Curiosity and I assure you, she’s quite hungry. I’m hungry.”

“We can go to the dining hall later if you wish.” Oh, so now Linhardt sees the curl on his lips. He tells himself to take note that Byleth is nothing but pure evil under his mysterious exterior. Byleth continues like nothing is wrong with the world. “Anyways, it’s only an idea and frankly, one that I’m not entirely sure on either. But if it is true, then I think I can test my hypothesis by checking the library and having teatime with them from time to time. I figured that that level of effort won’t cut it for someone like Claude.”

It hits Linhardt like a truck on what Byleth is getting at. “Oh goddess, is that how you were deciding on which house to teach? Maybe you and Claude aren’t so different in that respect.”

“There’s a lot about the world that I don’t know despite traveling around as a mercenary. I realized that when I discovered that a force like the Knights of Seiros, the most famous military force in Fodlan, existed just yesterday. The Church of Seiros and Crests are all new to me as well.” Byleth exhales. “It may be an… irrational reason. And yet, I can’t help wanting to know things that others don’t-- things that people don’t want me to know. It’s a new experience for me.”

“Rather than a pure curiosity, my intuition tells me that what you’re showing me right now is a picture-perfect example of pettiness, Mr. Future Professor.”

Byleth looks up in thought for a moment. “Perhaps it is. Yes… that’s probably it. Pettiness.” It was small, but Linhardt could see it clearly from where he is-- the glow of humanity in Byleth’s eyes accompanied by a smile. 

“Yes… I’m going to choose the Golden Deer, and I’m going to do it out of sheer pettiness. I think that sounds about right, Linhardt.”

Byleth stood up and left after saying his good-byes.

What a weird guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, those who slither in the dark are now the Illuminati in modern!Adrestia.


	4. fodlan's specialty is misunderstandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Linhardt and Claude were kept separated by fate for a reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added lin & claude tag bc apparently every time i mention claude, the plot just... progresses on its own. i swear that this is going to be a casphardt fic but mmmm slow burn will be slow

When it was revealed to the student body that Byleth was going to teach the Golden Deer, Edelgard felt something was… off.

It’s not like she suspects him to be not of sound mind. She had no doubts that Byleth was careful with his decision-- it was no secret that he was running around talking to students for the majority of the day. In a way, that in itself is strange. He acted like choosing which house to teach was a life and death matter, but that could easily just be her imagination.

Hubert reasoned that perhaps it was simply Byleth’s fervent desire to get to know as many students as possible-- one that is ignited because of monastery life being a fresh and new experience. Edelgard can see that and if it is true, she can empathize to a degree. Being chained down to the norm can be tiring.

Even so… she can’t shake the feeling that there’s something wrong about Byleth’s decision.

Maybe she just needs to get her head out of the gutter. Perhaps this is all just a simple matter of her being presumptuous enough to assume that a legendary mercenary would choose her after going through many lengths to get to know her and the Black Eagles. Perhaps she jumped to conclusions because she didn’t witness Byleth doing the same thing with the Blue Lions and the Golden Deer. And… she supposes that she could be getting a little bitter now that the mock battle is coming up.

It’s weird. Even if others may consider her to be a bit arrogant, it isn’t like her to assume that someone was charmed by her within a mere day.

Speaking of weird and odd things, Hubert reported his concerns about the other newcomer earlier. Although being wary is his nature, (“Lady Edelgard, being wary is my job.”) Edelgard can’t find herself to spare any concern regarding the new medical aide, Linhardt. Caspar, being the honest boy he is, voiced his liking towards the green-haired boy (and quite loudly at that) and as oblivious he could be, he can be strangely perceptive at times. Even if Linhardt’s path may be at odds with hers in the future, she can’t bring herself to believe that his presence changes anything. She’s already being careful to avoid the Church’s suspicions-- what does an extra pair of eyes change, amnesiac or no? 

However, Hubert always had a keen intuition. She told him that if he so wishes, he may look into clues regarding Linhardt’s true identity as long as it doesn’t get in the way of his more important duties. Hubert, of course, obeys.

The plan has been in motion for a long time. She can’t afford to have doubts and regrets when there is a brighter future for Fodlan within reach. Until the time is right, all she can do for now is to be watchful. While Hubert keeps his eyes on Linhardt (and the new Professor), Edelgard focuses her attention on the true wild card in her eyes: Claude von Riegan.

* * *

After Linhardt’s meeting with Byleth, he decided to retire to his room for that day. Caspar, Claude, and Byleth… Linhardt was reaching his limit by the end of it all. By the time he woke up the next day, most of the student body already heard about how the professors were assigned: Professor Manuela for the Black Eagles, Professor Hanneman for the Blue Lions, and Professor Byleth for the Golden Deer. A new set of clothes for him were neatly folded on his desk. Seteth, or some other faculty member, probably used a master key to get in and left it for him. Linhardt takes off the bandages from yesterday, puts on the clothes, and sees that it looks similar to the academy’s uniform, but instead of gold accents, it’s silver. Given that they never asked him for measurements, these are likely spare clothes they just so happened to have.

Now, Linhardt was a little concerned regarding his original plan to “not disturb the timeline too much.” Yesterday was a disaster and after looking over his phone’s contents… it jogged his memory over certain events of Fodlan’s ‘old’ history. He still doesn’t think that what happened will change the outcome of the war or anything major like that (at least, by itself), but it’ll take work to ‘straighten’ the timeline out just in case some unpredictable consequences were to happen. More work means the task becomes more bothersome and if so, it may be easier on Linhardt’s head to not worry about the war at all.

Linhardt checks out his phone one last time before heading out. His phone’s battery was dying by the time he got it back from Claude, but it isn’t an ordinary phone-- it’s was the latest, cutting edge magitechnology. The main feature it boasts (aside from being more powerful than ordinary smartphones) is that it can use a person’s magical energy to charge itself. In other words, all Linhardt needs to do to charge his phone is to use a simple spell that’s compatible with his phone’s model. No fussing with chargers required. It wasn’t cheap by any means, but it was convenient and now, it’s a necessity if Linhardt plans to use the phone for an extended period.

That being said, most of its functions were rendered useless, as Claude pointed out yesterday. The only apps that will work as intended are only a handful of the built-in ones that don’t require Wi-Fi, like the camera or the calculator. Linhardt can’t imagine it to be terribly useful, but… you never know. Maybe it’s because he’s too used to having a phone on him, but he’s hesitant to simply destroy it even though it almost blew his cover. He’ll just have to be more careful. He really doesn’t want to meet another Claude situation, especially since he barely survived that dilemma through sheer luck. He decides to keep it on his person. Claude seems like the kind of guy who can work around a lock.

Which brings him back to timeline shenanigans-- when Linhardt went back to look at the images he saved on his phone to get an idea of what Claude saw, he noticed he had several screenshots of notes, or more specifically, powerpoint slides that the teacher posted online. He probably did it because he was too lazy to pay attention to the actual lecture and figured it was less reading than the textbook. Claude seemed suspicious of Linhardt when he brought up the calendar and time, so, strangely, he didn’t address the blatant evidence regarding Linhardt’s origins when he could. That probably means that he didn’t examine every single image on his phone carefully. Of course, it’s also possible that he’s lying and doesn’t want to reveal his cards right away… Goddess, that man’s day job really is to give Linhardt anxiety, isn’t it?

But, eh. Linhardt doesn’t like coming up with plans when he could just put it off for Future Linhardt to do it for him, so he’ll do just that.

(Side note: Linhardt changed his phone’s passcode just in case Claude gets his hands on it again. It’s ‘1111’ now.)

For now, he decides to finally go do what he originally wanted to do yesterday. His job starts in earnest tomorrow at the time classes do and he’d rather not get a scolding for favoring his interests over his job on the first day. It took a bit of time, but eventually, Linhardt managed to find the room he was looking for. When he entered, he saw an older man in a room filled with papers, books, and most notably, a Crest analysis device built into the floor. For some reason, he looked exactly how Linhardt imagined he would, despite not seeing a single portrait of the man in his life.

“Hello. Are you Professor Hanneman?”

“Oh, yes. You’ve found the right man.” Hanneman pushes up his monocle to get a clearer view of his visitor. “If I recall… you must be the new medical aide the Archbishop hired. Linhardt, correct?”

Linhardt nodded. 

“To be honest, I’ve been quite curious about you. You don’t normally come by people claiming to be amnesiac every day. I may not be an expert on the subject, but from what I heard from Professor Manuela, there isn’t much that can be done about it aside from waiting. Apparently, records show that’s what happens most of the time.”

Linhardt did hear about that vaguely, especially given the number of times amnesia was used as a plot device to create drama. Retrograde amnesia… usually, memory is restored over time or via memory ‘triggers’ like cherished objects from the past. However, there is a chance that said memory may never come back at all. Fortunately, Claude decided to not expose him at a moment’s notice, as sly as he is. It wouldn’t look good on him to be labeled as a liar now, especially when said lie was towards the powerful Archbishop.

He didn’t realize it at that moment, but Hanneman interpreted Linhardt’s silence as disinterest. “Ah, my apologies. You were looking for me, weren’t you? Is there something you need?”

“Yes, I…. I was told yesterday to introduce myself to the faculty, but there was something else that I wanted to talk about. You’re a Crest scholar, right?” Linhardt held up a book called Crestological Mysteries. He snatched it from the library and gave it a quick skim on the way. “A lot of things were new to me, including these things called ‘Crests’. They sounded pretty important, so I read up on it a little bit and found the subject to be quite interesting.”

Hanneman’s eyes light up like baby seeing Christmas lights for the first time. “An interest in Crests, you say! Why-- it warms my heart to see Crestology living onto a younger generation before my very eyes. I’m more than willing to talk about Crests if you like!”

When Linhardt gave his approval, the two proceed to do just that. While feigning ignorance, Linhardt listened onto Hanneman’s babbles about Crests. He already knew about the basics and much about the properties of Crests, but there was something enjoyable about seeing someone with the same enthusiasm as you do with your niche interest. Of course, conversations are still exhausting, but at least it’s far from unpleasant.

Inevitably, the subject eventually directed back to Linhardt.

“Since you didn’t know about Crests beforehand, that probably means you don’t know whether you possess one or not, yes? I’ve rambled on about this device for so long, so perhaps you want to try it yourself? It could uncover an important clue about your identity.”

“An important clue?”

“Yes. I suppose one could already guess that you didn’t come from poverty based on your skill in white magic, but if it’s true that you also possess a Crest on top of that, it’s fairly likely that you came from at least an upper-middle-class background… perhaps even a noble bloodline depending on said Crest.”

The logic doesn’t apply to the modern world that Linhardt knows, where bloodlines run too thin for the Crest system to sustain itself, but Hanneman’s assessment is scarily accurate regardless. After all, he is still ‘Hevring’.

Linhardt didn’t want to reveal that he had a Crest so soon, but perhaps… this was inevitable. This is the Father of Crestology himself, after all. The fact that Crest of Cethleann isn’t exclusive to one family name within the Empire is a small drop of luck mixed into Linhardt’s pool of unfortunate events. The crests of the 10 Elites are much more well kept in terms of purity, and Linhardt suspects it has to do with some messy history left untold about the Adrestian Empire or because of the Kingdom’s unique culture.

Hanneman directs Linhardt to a Crest analysis machine, which Linhardt recalls sketches of in the old records he managed to get his hands on. Putting his arm over the designated location caused the machine to project a familiar symbol-- The Minor Crest of Cethleann in full view. The faint green glow of the hologram hangs over the air.

It took a moment before Hanneman started speaking again. “Hmm, the Minor Crest of Cethleann. Since it’s one of the Four Saints’ crests, it’s more likely that you hail from the Adrestian Empire than not. With this, we can cut down the list of suspects significantly, and by suspects, I mean your potential family.”

“How common is this Crest?”

“In terms of the general population of Adrestia, it’s not high, but that could be said for any Crest. Within the crest-bearing Adrestian nobility… I’d say about a third. It’s not impossible to go down the list of families one by one.”

“My family, huh….” Linhardt doesn’t have strong feelings towards his parents despite being an only child. He wouldn’t call it neglect per se, but at some point, there was this insurmountable wall between him and his parents-- something more than a simple generational gap. He supposes that the best way to put it was that there was a lack of trust between them. He depends on them and they invest in him for their family’s future… but then what? Sometimes, he entertains the thought that he doesn’t love his parents at all. He’s seen it from time to time, you know? Not just heartwarming tales between parent and child, but also times when a child runs past him to give their mother a giant hug or flower crown or whatever. Those are the things that Linhardt would call ‘signs of love’ and… it’s been a long time since he had seen one in his own home. Those who are outside of his immediate family aren't any better. Relatives are just blurry faces that show up in family gatherings where Linhardt’s only job was to be somewhat tolerable. He found that job to be tiring after the first two, and later opted to abandon it entirely. His parents gave up as easily as Linhardt does with everything else, so perhaps that’s something he inherited from them. Like parent, like child, or however the saying goes.

Agh, now he really needs to get his head of the gutter.

Hanneman makes a thoughtful expression, with his chin resting on his left hand. “There are several noble families that bear members with the Crest of Cethleann, but I haven’t heard a peep about a noble making a fuss about their missing son. Of course, there are so many possible reasons why that could be... so much so that it’ll take all day just to list them out.” Linhardt can imagine a few. Noble families can fall under any number of circumstances, but the blood they bear won’t change. There are also cases of illegitimate children bearing crests, but instead of being granted power, they become tools to give other noble families power-- sometimes in the worst way possible….

Ah. He can use this.

“Professor Hanneman. Is it alright to ask a favor from you?”

“Go on.”

“Can you keep my Crest a secret?” When Linhardt listed the potential dangers of having a Crest in this world and the mystery that is his identity, the older man listened along, nodding as the boy made sound points. He agrees to do just that and although Linhardt didn’t notice, Hanneman saw his sister for the briefest of moments…. It disappeared as quickly as it came.

“Regardless, you shouldn’t lose hope! Perhaps one of the students from the Black Eagle house may recognize you or perhaps people who resemble you? As a medical aide, I’m sure you’ll encounter quite a few of them for the coming year.” Linhardt wants to say that he isn’t interested in finding his ‘family’, but he kept his mouth shut and nods. 

“Thank you for your time, Professor Hanneman. I think I’ll be going now.”

“Oh! If it’s alright, there’s one last thing I should tell you. It’s about the new professor, Byleth Eisner.”

“Hmm?”

“I met him earlier to see if they possess a crest as well, and-- wait, let me show it to you.” Hanneman bent down and meddled with the crest analysis device until it projected… something that didn’t look like any crest that Linhardt was aware of. It seems like the device also has a save function to preserve data that has already been analyzed. Plus, the blur around the edges… it’s like as if what is shown is just a part of a whole. Its apparent lack of symmetry supports this hypothesis.

“Quite interesting, no? I haven’t seen a crest like this my entire life as a crest scholar! This might be a bit selfish for me to ask, but if you ever get the chance, could you try to convince the new professor to participate in my research? Of course, I’m not asking any promises, but-- you understand.”

“Don’t worry, I get what you’re saying. I’ll ask when I get the chance.” That crest… looking at it makes Linhardt’s head itch. He swears that he saw it before in his original world, but where--

Oh. Right. The Crest of Flames.

‘Crest of Flames’ is a popular video game series from the future that’s inspired by the history of crests. Although Crestology as a subject is dead, that doesn’t stop crests from being a pop-culture motif in media and the like (despite the… occasional inaccuracies), and ‘Crest of Flames’ is no exception. It was initially inspired by the old legend of Seiros and the King of Liberation, Nemesis, which Edelgard famously exposed the whole ordeal to be twisted by the Church’s lies. The name itself came from the crest Nemesis bore and now… a random mercenary just so happened to have it? Linhardt definitely heard about Edelgard possessing the legendary crest via experimentation-- the details regarding that tragedy was revealed to the public, though Linhardt forgot when exactly.

But Byleth? Now that’s a real mystery to Linhardt. Nemesis was said to have no children, so was he also a victim of crest experiments as well? If that’s the case, perhaps that’s the reason why Byleth sided with Edelgard at the end….

He could bring this up... ah, but it would look strange if Linhardt recognized the Crest of Flames before an experienced scholar more than double his age, so--

“Do you recognize this crest? It looks like you just realized something.”

Fu-- “Oh. Yes. I vaguely recall seeing it in, uh, this book.” Linhardt points to the book from earlier, Crestological Mysteries. Hanneman took and skimmed through it until he landed on a certain page. 

“Oh, you’re right! This is…!” Hanneman looks up. “You’re right, the line and arcs-- they match up! I’ll look into this right away! Thank you, Linhardt. You’ve been a great help.”

Linhardt, who is still processing all of this information, absentmindedly nodded and took his leave.

* * *

Linhardt returns to the library, hoping to understand the world around him a bit more and decrease the chance of him revealing something he shouldn’t. He may be an amnesiac to the world (or to Claude, a foreigner), but it certainly wouldn’t hurt. He looks through the shelves for books on the history for all of the current factions within Fodlan: the Adrestian Empire, the Kingdom of Faerghus, the Leicester Alliance, and the Church of Seiros. He skips over the details that seem unimportant and focuses on the parts that he can compare and contrast with his knowledge from the future.

Of course, books on the Church wildly contradict history books from the future. Kind of. The Seiros belief never truly gone away with time. It’s not like any of the future Emperors decided to purge all of the believers. However, what did happen was a great schism within the Church leaders and where a person fell after the divide has a strong correlation with their geographic location. People who lived in former Faerghus territory has the highest percentage of those who remain faithful to the most orthodox form of the Seiros religion (as in, they still believe that Crests are blessings from the goddess), though it’s still a very small group. The western regions of Fodlan mostly comprise of people who fall under the unorthodox faction, whose origins have ties with the original Western Church. Historically wealthy districts within former Alliance territory tend to have more believers than poorer districts, although which subgroup within the Seiros belief wildly varies. Numerous other minor factions split off for their own reasons, but as far as general knowledge goes, Fodlan’s main religion split relatively cleanly into two.

Truthfully, although most people accept Edelgard’s version of history as truth, certain details are… controversial to say the least. Historians, archeologists, and other related parties found evidence that does indeed support Edelgard’s claims, but there were weak points that lack hard evidence. It’s not that Edelgard lied, in fact, with what modern society knows, it’s completely sound in terms of logic, but since those weak points exist, there are a handful of people who argue that Edelgard was wrong and that Seiros truly was a Saint who saved Fodlan from the evil King Nemesis using the goddess’s power. The Immaculate One’s corpse is on display in the national museum, but when you dig deep into it, there’s no proof that Archbishop Rhea and the Immaculate One were truly the same. There's only the evidence of people believing that to be true, most of which are from the Adrestian Empire’s side anyway. Regardless, this is what is taught in most public schools. The only people who truly understand the nature of every mystery left behind are people who devote themselves to study history in higher education or people who researched it on a mere whim. Linhardt falls in the latter category.

In short, if Edelgard planned on eliminating the goddess from the world or expected that everyone will let go of the goddess, she is wrong. Fodlan may be a small part of the world, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t diverse in its own way. Linhardt didn’t believe that was an issue to Edelgard personally. It seemed like she was more concerned with putting an end to the injustices caused by the Church and the Crest system more than anything else.

Everything else Linhardt could find in the history books is either new information that he simply never heard about or old information he already knew about. There was also a selection of records that contained short descriptions of the major noble families from each nation. He took note of some of these names because… well, he was curious about House Rie--

“Hey, old friend!”

Ah. Speak of the devil.

That voice was etched into Linhardt’s mind via thread and needle-- he’ll never forget that voice. He was tempted to ignore it for the sake of preserving his peace of mind. Linhardt prayed to the goddess like he never had before.

Of course, peace didn’t last for long. After all, he is the devil hidden between the pages of books, the devourer of tormented souls, the reincarnation of the god of deceit and trickery-- he broke the walls of Linhardt’s solitary sanctuary, trampling over its sacred silence without a shred of remorse for the boy’s poor mind. His smile was sweet like a banana split with poison as the cherry on top. There was no escape from confrontation. His eyes already caught sight of his prey. Only determination reflected off his eyes when he whipped out the legendary weapon of old to bash Linhardt’s mental state into ash: chicken drumsticks.

“It’s fancy seeing you here, Linhardt.”

“We literally just met yesterday, Claude. And why did you bring bird meat to a library? Aren’t librarians legally allowed to murder you for such blasphemy?”

“Hah, that’s an image and a half. I’d like to see Tomas try one day.” It’s somewhat cruel, but a part of Linhardt hopes he just jinxed his own fate. “And I think the phrase ‘old friends’ fits us just fine. We’re both old souls hanging out in a dusty library and had a wonderful bonding experience together in the infirmary. That’s at least worth at least a dozen of friendship points, yeah?”

“Old souls? Really?” Would Linhardt describe Claude as one? Not with the information he knew about him thus far. “I won’t bother contesting that gross misuse of the phrase ‘old friends’. What are you really here for?”

“Is it truly so odd for a man to stop by the library to pick up some reading materials?”

“It is when said man is carrying a bucket of chicken in the process.”

“Oh? Let me rephrase my question then.” Claude clears his throat. “Is it truly so odd for a man with a bucket of chicken to get the urge to… satiate his curiosity and thus seek the library for respite?”

“....” Linhardt is too tired for this. This is a game where the only way to win is to not play at all. Claude just laughs.

“But seriously, I do spend a lot of my time in the library. Your presence is just good ol’ luck on my part.” Claude sets down his food on the table, right next to the books Linhardt procured. Seriously, why is there no one else in this room? Is it lunchtime and good fellow Claude just so happened to be lone person to decide to dine in the library with finger food in tow? That has to be it. “I see that you’re reading up on Fodlan. This place is quite the ride, let me tell you.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Fodlan is abnormal by the world’s standards. I agree that this place is a mess.”

“Hah, it’s funny because most of these books tend to paint the history of Fodlan as a picturesque thing-- or at least, the legends and stories. Records are just records, of course.” Claude picks up a piece of chicken and eats it. Goddess, please stop him from touching any of the papers. “After I left the infirmary yesterday, I tried to investigate places outside of Fodlan-- your secret background intrigues me, you know?”

“Right. Got any wild theories you want to spill all over the table?”

“Unfortunately, that’s a work in progress. There aren’t many accounts about the world outside in this teacup. My best guess is that you’re from a place outside of Fodlan’s maps-- perhaps even a place that Fodlan never heard of.

“Uh-huh.”

“Is that a ‘yes’? Spare me a bone here, doctor.” Claude waved a chicken bone as he said that.

“I won’t confirm or deny anything.”

“Ah, nuts.” Claude reaches out for his chicken pile once again, only to freeze. This catches Linhardt’s attention.

Claude’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Hey, Linhardt.”

“What?”

“I think we’re being watched.”

Okay, that woke up Linhardt from his drowsy state. Are they watching him? Or are they watching Claude? The distinction doesn’t matter, but just in case….

Linhardt clears his throat and starts speaking in a moderately loud voice. “Hey, your name is Tomas, right? If you’re plotting Claude’s murder behind that shelf, you don’t half to hold yourself back for my sake. I sympathize with your cause.”

Claude’s eyes widen as if all of his terrible life choices flashed in front of his eyes within a span of a millisecond. “Hey now--”

When Linhardt started hearing footsteps, he turned his head around and sees an unremarkable old man holding onto a wooden cane. He walks slowly with little sound. Linhardt briefly entertains the thought of him being an assassin back in the day before discarding it from his brain. 

The assassin-like, unremarkable old man approaches the table Linhardt and Claude were sitting at and looks at the half-eaten drumsticks with some kind of a mix between amusement and fake cheer. “Oh no, there’s no need for something so drastic. Though I do ask you to take your food out of the library. The dining hall is there for a reason, no?” 

Claude sighs in disappointment. It sounded more genuine than it frankly should’ve. Linhardt smiles at the cool, unremarkable old man assassin and makes a brave decision to compliment him.

“I couldn’t agree more, Mr. Unremarkable Old Assassin. You’re cool.”

Tomas looks at him with an eerily blank stare, unflinching. It... lasted a bit too long for Linhardt’s comfort. Claude is just sitting there, wondering if today is the day he and Linhardt dies. He wished he brought tea with him because if he did, he would be sipping on his cup instead of making his eyes wander suspiciously. 

It took a whole minute of silence until Tomas deleted the memory from his brain. “Well….” The librarian clears his throat. “I meant what I said, von Riegan. Food out.”

Claude regains his composure after letting out the breath he was holding. It’s a little petty on his part, but after an unsuccessful attempt of uncovering Linhardt’s secrets…. “Alright, but can I ask one thing real quick? I heard about something and I want to learn more about it.”

“Sure. It’s a librarian’s duty to assist the pursuit of knowledge.” Linhardt looks at Claude’s expression and instantly knew that something very bad is going to happen. That smirk is...

Claude opens his mouth.

“Do you know what a phone is?”

_ WHAT. _

Linhardt isn’t a violent person. He hates confrontations and has perfected the skill of metaphorically parrying them away with a cool tongue and a sharp mind. But right now? He’s contemplating whether to strangle Claude on the spot or not. Pure, unbridled rage makes this an actual option on the table. The adrenaline alone may be enough for Linhardt to pull it off.

Tomas, who is actually Solon, is thinking the same thing, unbeknownst to the two boys before him. “I’m afraid I do not know what that word means. Is it a foreign language?”

“Ah, so you don’t know. That’s a shame.” Claude stands up with the bucket of chicken in his arms. He still has a smug look on his face. “Well, I’ll be off now. I need to go run some errands. See ya later, Linhardt!” 

Once again, Linhardt falls victim to Claude’s special skill to suck the little energy he has with his insatiable desire to shock people for fun. Instead of cleaning up and heading back to his room, he just smashed his forehead onto the table in hopes of knocking himself unconscious. It didn’t work and it only made him unable to think a single coherent thought. He lets out a scream from his soul.

Solon drops out of view. How does Claude von Riegan know about phones? A phone is an ancient piece of technology that his ancestors created back in the day-- before Agartha’s downfall. It fell out of use when the detestable Church of Seiros rose into power, and it’s too risky to use outside of Shambhala as they can be easily lost or discovered by unwanted eyes. It would be difficult to know the existence of phones without knowing something about Agartha or Shambhala… he couldn’t possibly get this information from the Church. It must be something else and the possibilities he can think of hit too close for the Agarthan’s liking. Solon can’t blow his cover just yet, but… the House Riegan’s young, mysterious heir may be due for an ‘accident’.

Claude walks to town carefreely, hopeful to learn more one day.

Linhardt eventually crashes in the library, snoring away. 

Solon retires to his hiding space, plotting schemes to eliminate all threats without being detrimental to his cause. 

Hubert saw the whole event and plans to report what he learned to his liege.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one asked about this yet, but just to be clear without spoilers, this is what is known/not known in the post-CF future modern!lin is from:
> 
> \- Everything that is revealed in CF route (things like Edelgard's backstory and motivations) minus the things that are kept in the dark about TWSITD are known  
\- The truth about the Tragedy of Duscur isn't known  
\- The truth about the Relics and Crests aren't known/revealed to the public, Linhardt only knows a few hints through his own investigation  
\- Rhea's true motivations behind her actions aren't known  
\- Byleth's role in history is similar to Pan-- a legendary figure, but not well-known enough for most people to know specific details like him possessing the Crest of Flames or being Edelgard's teacher in Garreg Mach. You'd have to deliberately look up his Wikipedia article for fun or something to know that. Linhardt didn't do that.  
\- The history of Faerghus and the Alliance are known and taught in history class  
\- Edelgard's POV about the Church is widely accepted, but doesn't remain uncontested by all, as mentioned in this chapter


	5. the seeds that will one day sprout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mock battle is finally here.

Today is the day of the mock battle.

Linhardt is stationed not too far from the knights overseeing the battle just in case. A few days ago, his skill level with white magic was measured to be pretty high-- enough to qualify and pass the certification test to become a Bishop, not that Linhardt cared. Due to this, the Church tasked him with first aid duty once a student is eliminated from the mock battle for any possible injuries, especially since the school’s primary physician is participating in this event.

In other words, he can just nap until someone wakes him up. The field is small enough for the knights to oversee everything, but it’s still fairly large given the distance between the three houses, so Linhardt suspects that it’ll take some time until the actual ‘bloodshed’ starts happening.

He still isn’t used to how there’s an academy dedicated to teaching kids how to kill people, but he has no choice but to get used to it. This is the norm for those burdened with duties at birth and those who aspire to be some shiny image of honor during this day and age. At least he knows that this practice will disappear as humanity slowly gets its act together, even if they lose their minds in other ways.

The person next to Linhardt, Jeralt, explains the rules of the mock battle. A select number from each house is pitted against each other and the one that survives at the end wins. Simple rules. From a distance, Linhardt can see a few familiar faces like Byleth, Caspar and his cotton-candy colored hair, and that scheming devil of a man. There were also two other house leaders, Edelgard and Dimitri, who were present. Linhardt isn’t all that familiar with the latter, though he did read up on Faerghus and House Blaiddyd. That country is a mess in multiple ways and listing them all out would be as painful as choking on a Skittle for a whole day. The most notable one was the Tragedy of Duscur, which was definitely something Linhardt heard about in the future. It’s surreal to hear that such an event only happened 4 years prior. That incident was cited as one of the main reasons the Empire won despite the Kingdom’s formidable forces— the wounds of the instability of regicide caused chaos, spelling the doom of Faerghus. The people suffered and although the regent at the time wasn’t particularly terrible, he wasn’t the leader the Kingdom needed at the time. Things got better when the new king was coronated, but it was a slow process thanks to the war-- too slow for the Kingdom to win. King Dimitri’s efforts weren’t completely in vain per se, as the people of Faerghus would’ve been a lot more miserable without him, but Emperor Edelgard still had to put more than ten times the effort in war recovery duties within Kingdom territories than Alliance territories.

That being said, the ultimate fate of these future leaders has yet to come (assuming that it will at all, at this point). It’s weird to see Dimitri as a kind, happy-looking prince knowing he’s going to die at some random field in the future. Then again, everyone here is probably going to die at some point, but even so, there’s something bothersome about the whole thing. It’s like knowing how the bad ending to a game happens, but you don’t put any effort to avoid it. Linhardt knows that for his own safety, it’s preferable to avoid making the timeline too unpredictable, but it also feels… unnatural. It’s no wonder why time-travel plots tend to involve ‘saving the world’ or ‘saving the person you love’ and the like. After all, why wouldn’t you try to erase your regrets if you had the chance? Or change the world for the better now that you know what happens in the future? The main difference here is that the world Linhardt is from isn’t some bleak dystopia, despite his misgivings. Not liking something isn’t the same and thinking it shouldn’t exist. Trying to determine what’s best for the future of Fodlan is too tiring on his mind— too much like real-life politics. It’s easier to just not think about it at all and let the people who care to take care of it.

Meanwhile, the future, glorious Emperor of Adrestia is camping on a healing tile like a lawful evil player in a competitive first-person shooter. Edelgard is a lot younger than how she looked in most of the portraits Linhardt remembered. Instead of her signature donut-like buns and ornate hairpiece, her striking, white hair was only tied with a simple purple ribbon on the sides of her head. The reason why her hair is white was described in a memoir Edelgard wrote when she was alive. It was required reading for class and to put it lightly, the details weren’t pleasant. At all. Linhardt opted to read the summary online instead of subjecting himself to the vivid details written in the book.

When Jeralt wrapped up the rules, the participating students get into battle position, training weapons at hand. The sound of horns permeates the air and all at once, each house made their first move. 

Linhardt had no intention of paying attention to the mock battle, but as battle cries and cheers rang out from the sidelines, he was unable to indulge in his afternoon nap. A shame, really. He found his eyes wandering towards Claude, who is apparently… talking to the new Professor instead of charging in like the other two houses.

Now, Edelgard had enough tact to use the forest to her advantage with a couple of her classmates, but Dimitri… okay, he’s sending an archer with ashen hair to lure the seemingly inactive Golden Deer members and then…

_ CRASH! _

The floor beneath said archer collapsed. The pit was fairly deep, but not enough for the boy to injure himself deeply from the fall alone. It’ll be difficult to climb up. Poor boy. If he didn’t look like the hypothetical answer to “what would an ashtray with freckles look like?”, there may have been a possibility where Linhardt stops himself from laughing on the spot.

Laughter rang out. “And, score! Golden Deer, move out!”

At Claude’s signal, his house did just that. Unsurprisingly, Professor Byleth decides to take a more aggressive role than the other professors. Frankly, if his skills as a mercenary and a tactician is as good as they say, the Golden Deer has this victory in the bag-- and that's not even counting the fact that he possesses the legendary Crest of Flames.

That, of course, doesn’t mean Linhardt wants them to win. 

Jeralt walks over to Seteth, who was close by. “Hey, I know I listed out all the rules minutes ago, but is this allowed?”

Seteth lets out a breath. “Technically, no. Students are not allowed to tamper with the mock battle arena before the mock battle. However, I suspect that Claude nor the other Golden Deer students didn’t pull this off themselves.”

Jeralt raised his eyebrow. “What makes you so sure? That kid seemed to know about the pitfalls.”

“Although the mock battle always takes place near Garreg Mach, the exact location changes every year. Not even a sharp mind like Claude’s would’ve been able to predict the exact location before it was being prepared for an audience. By then, the staff has already been carefully patrolling the place to make sure no students don’t tamper with the scene to give one house an unfair advantage.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t explain why the pitfall is there and how the kid seemed to know about it.”

“I can think of one explanation, unfortunately.” Seteth pinched the bridge of his nose. “Either one or more of the knights dug the holes or someone disguised as a knight did the deed. We have no evidence pointing towards the latter, as pulling a 'disguise' plan would be difficult to execute without triggering some kind of sign, so it’s more likely that it’s the former case. As for how Claude knows, well, he probably just noticed the trap when he walked into position. To be honest, that patch of grass did look a little out of place.”

Jeralt looked at Seteth like he just saw a pig fly across the field. “So you’re saying that someone put the pitfalls there, not knowing who would land on their traps nor who would notice, all for fun?”

“That seems like the most likely possibility. As much as it is tempting to punish Claude, there is no proof that those pitfalls were there for the Golden Deer’s benefit.” Seteth had a disappointed look on his face. Relatable, Linhardt thought.

Another crash rang out.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH, OW! MY MUSCLES!”

“Raphael!” Claude kneeled next to the pit where the human beefcake fell into. He looked like he was crying-- as in, he secretly whipped out some strange vial and used a dropper to apply the liquid onto his eyes to make his eyes more watery. Is someone filming this? Is 'film' even a thing during this period of time? Linhardt swears it wasn’t, which means this guy is seriously just being dramatic for the sake of being dramatic. Unbelievable. This man is actually unbelievable. 

“Do not worry old friend… I promise your death won’t be in vain. I swear it!” Wiping away his crocodile tears, Claude stood up and whacked his training bow at some poor noble sap who actually fell for Claude’s dumb stunt. Rest in pieces, ginger spice. Even in death, you are Ferdinand von Aegir. The whack alone wasn’t enough to knock him out, but the force did cause him to fall into the same hole Raphael fell into.

“Ferdinand, you fool! Lady Edelgard, your orders?”

“Be cautious of the ground! We don’t know how many pitfalls there are!”

“Ashe! Let me help you up!”

The battlefield fell into chaos quickly, as some opted to help their fallen comrades while others devoted themselves to the original plan. Byleth surveys the field with a stoic face as always.

“Ignatz! Leonie! To your right!”

The two students did just that, quickly dodging the magic spells headed their way, and prepared for a counterattack. Caspar charged forwards into that mess, tackling Glasses as Ginger Spice the Sequel retreated to the forest. The three houses are locked in a heated battle, as caution washed over their faces.

Meanwhile, Claude approaches Edelgard.

“Look a rat next to your foot!”

“Kya! Wait--!” Edelgard blocks the arrow by using her axe as her shield. Just when Edelgard was about to chide at Claude, he disappeared. It didn’t take long for her to put two and two together-- he’s hiding amongst the trees, hoping for her to trip over a pitfall if she were to give chase.

“Edelgard, I got this!”

“Caspa--”

The familiar sound of a pitfall being triggered happened once again. Caspar winced in pain after landing on his butt. He also suffered an injury from one of Claude’s arrows. Edelgard gives chase to the infamous schemer, but Linhardt can see that more of the Golden Deers are approaching her while the rest of the Black Eagles are distracted by the Blue Lions.

Goddamnit.

There isn’t much Linhardt can do on the sidelines. Although he can definitely cast Physic from this range, that’s against the rules and will probably disqualify Caspar on the spot. Linhardt looks side to side, hoping to find clues on what to do. He sees students cheering for their respective houses, but with how large the field is, Linhardt doubts that any of the players can make out their words when they’re focusing on the mock battle. However, an idea hits him.

Although the method is somewhat crude, it’s all he has if he wants to make a difference. Linhardt reaches out for the makeshift megaphone that Jeralt used earlier to explain the rules. The older man takes notice and lets it be. Other students rolled up papers to do the same thing, so it’s not like one other cheerleader makes a difference, right?

What Jeralt didn’t expect how loud Linhardt’s voice came out.

You see, as time progresses, humanity procures more and more knowledge, evolving civilization along with it. This applies to the field of magic theory. Not only did magitechnology come to existence in the future, but new spells that didn’t exist in Fodlan (as it currently is) came to be. Unlike dark magic, black magic is based on real-life phenomenons like fire or wind and those spells are only possible when you have a deep understanding of how those phenomena occur. That’s why advancement in magic happens in conjunction with the advancement in science. They’re two sides of the same coin.

Because of these facts, people didn’t understand how Linhardt was augmenting the sound of his voice through magic. They were never taught that such a thing was possible— not because they didn’t know what the nature of 'sound' is, but because they don’t know 'sound' the way Linhardt does. The smart old people who came up with those irritating equations that Linhardt had to memorize for physics and Reason classes haven’t been born yet, and those were necessary for Linhardt to make this whole thing possible.

As a result, everyone on the field thought that a certain someone just had a really, really loud voice. They can’t see the magic circle in front of Linhardt’s face from where they are.

“You can do it, Caspar!”

They can, however, understand damn well what he’s saying.

Caspar looks up into the sky, confused as kindergartner doing calculus homework. Why can he hear Linhardt’s voice? Is he in the mock battle, too? 

“You have the power of anime and god on your side! Caspar!”

That’s definitely Linhardt’s voice! But he can’t make out the words super well… Caspar stands up and takes a deep breath…. He yells.

“I CAN’T HEAR YOOOOOOOOU!”

All of the birds perched on the nearby trees flew all at once. Everyone, despite focusing on their own battles, flinched for a split second. Linhardt clears out his throat. Magic always came naturally over physical exertion, even for something as simple as raising his voice. He starts amplifying the spell even further, unaware of the green-haired man that’s starting to choke.

“CASPAR! I BELIEVE IN YOU! YOU CAN DO IT!”

Linhardt’s encouragement bolstered Caspar’s determination. That’s right! His friend believes in him. He can do it! No, he will do it! Dropping the training axe he had on him, he started climbing out of the pit with his bare hands. Yes! He’s almost there! He has the power of anime and god on his side, whatever the hell that means!

Caspar fell a couple of times, but that didn’t deter him! He kept trying and trying, screaming at the top of his lungs all the way through, even though it was a complete waste of energy! Channeling the power of his fallen comrade, Ferdinand, he screams, “I AM CASPAR VON BERGLIEZ!”

At that moment, with a single burst of strength, Caspar jumps and lands outside of the hole. Not too far from him is Claude and some other Golden Deers surrounding Edelgard. All of their eyes are on him. Caspar rushes in.

“HIIIIIIIYAAAAAA!”

“What the--”

Linhardt is suddenly enthusiastic!

“PUNCH HIM THE GUT, CASPAR! THE KNEES! STRIKE HIM AT THE KNEES! YES!”

Caspar punches Claude in the gut! It was super effective! Almost like a madman, Caspar’s moves quicken, beating Claude with nothing but his bare fists. When he falls he goes after the other Golden Deers, who just defeated Edelgard seconds ago.

“GO CASPAAAAAAAAAAR!”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Jeralt takes the makeshift megaphone from Linhardt’s hands. “You’re busting my eardrums. Seteth over here fell unconscious because of you. Unconscious!”

Linhardt looked to the side and sees the poor man lying on the floor.

Ah. Now he’s a little embarrassed. Goddess, he hopes he doesn’t get fired over this.

“Go take care of him. You owe him that much.”

Linhardt obeys (for once in his life) and walks over to the green-haired man. He’s not one for physical labor, so he ends up warping the man’s body into one of the makeshift beds that are meant for any injured students. Given the current state of the battle, it shouldn’t be long until someone else pops up.

Linhardt walks towards the bed and cozies up the place a bit for Seteth to rest properly. A person being knocked out by sound… he isn’t sure if that was even possible. Was it really because he went overboard with the volume amplification spell? Or did he accidentally extract mana from his surroundings instead of his innate magical energy, which would naturally cause dizziness and the like? It would be fun to experiment to figure out the truth, but unfortunately, he doubts Seteth or anyone else would consent. It’s too bad, really.

Linhardt goes through the motions of a typical check-up. Pulse is normal. Body temperature seems alright. No visible external injuries. Just as expected. If anything is damaged, it’s the man’s eardrums. Right when Linhardt was about to prepare a heal spell, he sees… huh. Those are some pointy ears. Perhaps it’s a trait that’s caused by some sort of mutation? It sort of reminds him of elves, but doesn’t that species live on the other side of the world? It’ll be a while until Fodlan is even aware of that continent’s existence. Even if one were to slip by and miraculously land in isolationist Fodlan, the ear shape didn’t look exactly right….

Whatever. No use pondering now. He’ll just ask Seteth when he’s awake or something.

Linhardt’s hands start to give a soft green glow and lets out a sigh. Okay, he didn’t actually destroy the man’s eardrums. That’s the thing about healing with white magic. When you heal, you’re acutely aware of any damaged cells in an almost sixth sense-like fashion. It’s a useful tool to check if any injuries aren’t visible to the naked eye, like internal bleeding. Of course, this alone can’t cure illnesses caused by plagues or special situations like a malignant tumor, but it’s something.

Satisfied with his job, he puts a blanket over the sleeping man and walks back to his original spot. What Linhardt saw was….

Okay, he isn’t sure where to start. He took his eyes off the field for a handful of minutes, so how did the situation go from chaotic to a raging shitstorm?

Jeralt noticed his shock. “Kid, I was watching the whole time and I even I don’t know what exactly happened for things to get this way.”

This was a mock battle that’s supposed to test a student’s strengths and weaknesses during a real battle, so why is a patch of trees lit on fire? Why is Caspar fighting with another guy while standing on tree branches? Why is Dimitri holding a tree trunk-- wait, that can actually kill someone-- okay, the Blue Lion’s healer is sane enough to convince him to put that thing down. Thank the goddess.

“Are you sure none of the rules are being broken here?”

“Unarmed combat isn’t against the rules.”

“That wasn’t what I was talking about.”

“If it’s the burning trees, apparently that was a tactic some students used back in the day. Guess they didn’t update the rules to ban it-- not that it matters. I think that fiasco was an accident. Fire spell clashing against fire spell led to that… unfortunate outcome.”

Seriously?

“Alright, but this is a mock battle. There has to be some point where a student is considered ‘defeated’.”

“When they surrender, yeah. Some of them are sitting over there.” Jeralt points behind him, where Claude, Edelgard, and a few other students are licking their wounds.

Is this for real?

Aside from Linhardt, not many monks came with him to the mock battle, expecting injuries to be limited. But now that this happened….

Linhardt knows that he was concerned about getting fired earlier, but at the same time, he hopes he gets a raise by the end of this. Or extra vacation days. Either one.

* * *

As expected, the mock battle ended with Byleth carrying the Golden Deers to victory. Dimitri was a tough opponent, but taking Byleth and two other students at the same time were too much, even with his ridiculous strength.

Unsurprisingly, that battle became a popular subject. It’s amazing how quickly the students forgot about the abnormal incident a few days ago-- the ‘scar of light, but perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising. After all, there’s so much to talk about that disaster of a battle! The random pitfalls, the forest fire, Dimitri uprooting a whole tree, the new professor’s skill, and most notably… Linhardt and Caspar yelling across the field.

Seteth was surprisingly merciful on Linhardt by essentially giving him a slap on the wrist, but his sour mood dissuaded Linhardt from prodding about his ears. He normally wouldn’t care, but when his source of income is on the line… well, he would very much like to keep the comfy bed that they so gratefully provided for members of the staff. He isn’t past thieving around, but that method is much more unreliable and dangerous in this world. Like, people would probably unironically cut your hand off for things like that during this time period, right? Linhardt wants no part of that.

After leaving Seteth’s office, Linhardt passes by the Cathedral area on the way back, where many monks pray to the goddess. He has… a unique perspective on the goddess, even by the standards of the modern Fodlan he knew. It wouldn’t hurt to pray for once. It’s been a while and his luck has been absolutely dismal lately.

Minutes later, a certain Imperial princess comes by.

She couldn’t tell what Linhardt was mumbling under his breath. There’s something strange about seeing a guy like him in prayer when not too long ago, he was yelling at Caspar to murder the Golden Deer’s house leader. It… didn’t line up with her preconceived notions about him.

She steps forward. 

“Hello, there. You must be Linhardt, correct?”

The boy turns around. “That’s me.” Now that Edelgard has a closer look at Linhardt, she finds it hard to believe that a… lanky boy can project such a loud voice during the mock battle. As she thought, Hubert was right. He probably used some kind of magic that’s unknown to Fodlan. Perhaps he was an eccentric recluse who never made his magical discoveries known to the public before he supposedly lost his memory. It fits his personality.

Edelgard’s silence as she evaluates the boy in front of her must’ve made the silence awkward enough to make Linhardt go through the trouble of breaking the silence. “Is there something you need?” he asked.

“I was just passing by. I was just thinking how you were able to project your voice like that during the mock battle. Everyone is talking about it and even the most gifted of mages can’t seem to wrap their heads around it.” She recalls passing by Lysithea hitting the books at the library. She looked like she’s two steps away from going insane.

“I just did what I knew how to do. I don’t remember if it’s something I figured out on my own or if someone else taught me.”

“Selective memory loss?”

“Close, but it’s more like I can’t recall episodic memories before the Knights of Seiros found me. If I truly forgot everything, I’d forget things like language or how to perform magic entirely. Even among amnesiacs, that isn’t common.”

“I suppose that makes sense, but surely you didn’t forget everything.”

Linhardt cocks his head to the side. “What makes you say that?”

“You were praying. Faith in the goddess isn’t something that you can fall back on with muscle memory.” Of course, Edelgard knew about Linhardt’s abilities regarding white magic, but knowing the process to execute spells isn’t the same as believing the goddess. White magic may be fueled by one’s faith in the goddess traditionally, but that ‘faith’ could be applied to anything like comrades or oneself. Edelgard wouldn’t be surprised if the latter applied to Linhardt.

But if that was the case, then it just makes the current situation all the more confusing. How can one believe in comrades you don’t remember? How can you believe in yourself if you don’t know yourself? That’s one point to Hubert’s pet theory about Linhardt lying about his amnesia.

Linhardt takes Edelgard’s subtle accusation in stride. “That’s right. I never heard of the Church of Seiros before I came here. I just researched as much as I could during my stay here.”

“And in within a span of a few days, you became a believer? Was it because you were saved by the Church?”

“Eh, I wouldn’t put it that way.”

Well, that’s a vague answer. “Then do you not believe in the teachings of Seiros?” If that was the case, it makes sense. Not all nobles are pious at heart— some simply act like they do in order to curry favor from the church. In Linhardt’s case, it could easily be his sense of what obligation.

However, the boy had a habit of saying the unexpected. “Well, I suppose I don’t believe in the goddess same way a typical monk does, I’m sure. I just thought that the idea of a goddess watching over us, lazing about with her heavenly tea on hand, was cool.”

“You think that it’s… cool.”

He smiles. “Yes. Very cool, in fact.”

“You think the idea of a deity doing nothing but watch over Fodlan is cool.” Edelgard can’t understand the logic that’s going on here. Did he think the goddess is powerless? Or is he really okay with a lazy, all-powerful goddess?

Unaware of Edelgard’s true thoughts, Linhardt nods. “Correct.”

“And that’s the kind of goddess you’re willing to pray for? To worship?”

“You misunderstand. I don’t worship the goddess.” Edelgard makes eye contact with Linhardt, hoping to magically understand his words through… the depth of his droopy eyes or something. Linhardt just chuckles under his breath. “She hasn’t even taken me out for dinner yet, so worshipping her feet would be too much too fast, wouldn’t you agree?”

Edelgard, the next in line to become Adrestia’s next emperor, is experiencing one emotion. That emotion is called ‘confusion’. “And you lost me.” 

“Ah, it’s like— how do I explain this? I just... think it sounds lovely to have a friend who is always there for you, but never does anything bothersome as a nagging mother would.” Linhardt makes a thoughtful expression. “Or maybe it’s like-- yes. A good way to put it is that she’s like the bartender who you spill your darkest secrets to and vomit on while drunk?” 

“The goddess is your imaginary bartender? Hah, it’s borderline heresy to compare the goddess to either of those things.” And yet, here she is being amused by the medic’s odd beliefs.

“If people think that this is heresy, then it’s not my problem. That just means they are not the sort who I’d ever get along with.” Linhardt yawns. “Besides, I think it’s a compliment. You see, there are so few people in the world you can afford to be honest with. Good listeners who pretend that your words matters are precious, so it doesn’t matter to me if she’s powerless or unwilling to help. If I was an all-powerful goddess, I would get tired of humanity half-drunken pleas fast because, well, everyone has problems. I’d probably go to sleep for a long, long time, and then wake up when something exciting is happening.”

So, you’re projecting yourself onto the goddess, huh. But is it so bad? Is it so bad to imagine the goddess to be so… human-like? It isn’t, Edelgard concludes. Linhardt’s beliefs… with beliefs like his, it doesn’t matter if a goddess exists or not. He isn’t like those who blindly follow the Church.

Strange. Pleasantly surprising, but strange.

“How positively daring of you.” Edelgard sighs. “You’re an odd one. You pray, but you don’t worship. You don’t believe in her creed, and yet you act as if she exists.” Although she is mostly perplexed about the enigma before her, there’s a small part of her that’s… happy? Relieved? She isn’t sure if either is the right word.

“I simply believe in my own beliefs. Nothing more, nothing less.” Linhardt says the truth. It was always like this for him. Perhaps the cause was some twisted form of self-centeredness, but when he thought of the goddess, he thinks about how it would be like if he was a god himself. What a lonely, wonderful life it would be, to be alone in heaven. Fluffy, fluffy clouds and beautiful harps playing lullabies that can put anyone to sleep… Paradise. Who would want to leave paradise?

If the goddess got tired and slept for thousands of years... if the goddess realized how futile it is to save humanity— grew to hate her creations… that’s fine in Linhardt’s eyes. It’s fine to be tired. It’s okay to give up… to lose motivation. 

Linhardt doesn’t think Edelgard wants to hear that, assuming she hasn’t caught on the meaning behind his words already. Edelgard, who started a war to create a world for humanity and was willing to risk her life for it.

Edelgard clears her throat. “Hmm, I… I’ll see you again, Linhardt. Let us meet again over tea some time?”

“Sure.” And with that, the girl left.

Linhardt couldn’t help but think how ironic her words are. He’s strange to pray without worshipping? Doesn’t that make her strange for stating that they will meet again, only to ask for permission right after?

Odd girl, that princess. 

Meanwhile, Edelgard’s mind flashes back to what Hubert told her about what had happened in the library a few days ago. Claude trying to get closer to Linhardt… Tomas’s pale face when Claude mentioned this mysterious… ‘phone’... She can’t do much with that information alone, but hopefully, this strange encounter doesn’t escalate into something beyond her control.

* * *

Claude von Riegan had always been an anomaly from the start.

You see, it had always been the Agarthans’ plan from the start to sow the seeds of chaos in the deepest crevices of Fodlan. Taking control of the Empire in the shadows, growing the root of hatred within the Kingdom, and using the internal strife within the Alliance to their advantage. The end result was to wage war against the weakened nations and the church, but three unexpected things happened.

The first was when the Imperial princess approached their organization to take down the church. It was surprising to see her willing to seek the aid of the people who experimented on her siblings-- in fact, they weren’t expecting her to tough through the experience with strength and ambitions alone. Instead of a repeat of Ionius IX, the Flame Emperor was born. One could say that Edelgard’s inner strength was what allowed the Empire to still have a flicker of hope against the Agarthans from taking complete control. She plans to create the world she dreams of in one fell swoop-- despite her shortened lifespan. It’s no secret that they are using each other and that they’ll inevitably turn on each other by the end, but their alliance is also a reason why Edelgard is their greatest threat-- she is privy to dangerous information that others are not and will certainly be concocting a plan for their demise with her loyal vassal. She’s lucky that she’s so valuable to their cause and she knows that very well.

The second thing was that the Crown Prince of Faerghus survived the ordeal at Duscur. It’s not a big problem if Solon’s observations are anything to go by. The boy’s investigation to find his family’s murderers can be turned against him and Edelgard. Best case scenario, they will kill each other. The worst-case scenario is if he gets too close to the truth, and takes out Thales disguised as Arundel or their agent disguised as Cornelia first… but Solon knows that there isn’t enough evidence to point towards either within the church walls. Ideally, he would’ve removed all traces of evidence in the library, but the archbishop’s ally, Seteth, is very thorough regarding which books should be inside the library and out. There’s no easy way for Solon to slip by his eyes.

The final thing that the Agarthans didn’t anticipate was Claude’s very existence.

Causing instability within the Alliance was much easier due to the lords’ opposing stances. Discord is common amongst the nobility there and the Riegan-Gloucester rivalry was a prime example of the perfect manipulation tool. It took some nudging, but eventually, Count Gloucester caved into his ambitions and pettiness and ordered the assassination of the late Duke Riegan. After that was supposed to be a plan push House Gloucester as the leading noble house. They will almost definitely cave to the Empire once they declare war, as that would be to their best interests and make the Empire’s victory that much easier.

However, those plans turned to ash when House Riegan declared their mysterious new heir, Claude.

Of course, Gloucester and some other minor houses will still side with the Empire, causing the Alliance to split in two, but the problem with Claude isn’t the powerful cards he laid on the table, but the fact that his cards are still hidden-- the fact that even the Agarthans know little about him. He’s unpredictable. He could be anywhere between irrelevant to great danger.

And now? He has shown his first card-- his knowledge regarding the existence of phones, or in other words, ancient Agarthan technology that should’ve been lost to history. 

While the students are distracted with the mock battle, Solon contacted a nearby agent who is based in Garreg Mach to send a letter to Thales. He was going to visit as Arundel during the Red Wolf Moon, not long after the Battle of Eagle and Lion, but Solon would rather not dawdle around for half a year. If Claude needed to be taken out as soon as possible, well… needless to say, Solon already has some ideas in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NaNoWriMo may be over, but this fic will go on! It was my first go at it and before the month ended, I barely managed to clock into 25k if you include all the future scenes I wrote beforehand. It was a decent go.


End file.
